The Stolen Generation
by LadyRhiyana
Summary: [COMPLETED] Not all children are protected. Not all Malfoy are invulnerable. The story of the price paid for protection, for power, and for regaining what should never have been taken away.
1. The Bastard

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter or anything in the books. Anything you don't recognize is probably mine, unless I've subconsciously borrowed from somewhere else. I'm a chronic borrower, so if I have unknowingly used anyone's ideas, my deepest apologies. 

NB - Dranath comes from Melanie Rawn's "Dragon Prince series" - I've altered its properties a bit, but that's originally where I picked it up.

* * *

**The Stolen Generation**

**Part 1 - The Bastard**

* * *

Slytherin is a curious House - curious in that is does not have a single defining characteristic, as the other three Houses do. Whilst Gryffindors are known for being extremely brave and chivalrous, Ravenclaws for their intelligence and Hufflepuffs for their loyalty, Slytherin is stigmatized as the home of the ambitious, the cunning and the evil - the House no good witch or wizard would want to be part of.

Of course, in the very last years of Voldemort's rule of terror, when his power had been at its height, Slytherin had been almost universally condemned as a nest of future Death Eaters, and the ministry called for the dissolution of the ancient House. Headmaster Dumbledore stood firm, however, stating that Slytherin was an integral part of Hogwarts' history and tradition, and he would not hear of any proposal to abolish it.

To children of the other Houses, who had lost their family to the Death Eaters, Slytherin was a tangible presence of the Dark Lord's rule, and they, whether intentionally or not, did everything to make the Slytherins feel unwelcome. And as a result, more and more of them went over to Voldemort, who seemed to be the only person who actually appreciated them.

Slytherin, the House that had once been known for producing great leaders, became the House of the misfits - those who were rejected by their families, for the abused, neglected and unwanted children who did not fit in.

And one of these children, who came to Hogwarts in 1980, about a year before Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, was a young boy. He was somewhat small for his age, dressed in cast off clothes with very white skin and untamed, shaggy black hair. He stood on the platform amidst the chaos like a rock in a rushing river, and his very stillness set him apart.

To Hagrid, watching from the stairs of the platform, it seemed that he did not quite fit into the mundane scene all around him - that he was slightly unreal, or that he was the only real thing in a grand illusion. Shaking his head, dismissing the thought as flightless fancy, he called out in his booming voice "Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!" Amongst the chaos a distinct group of painfully young students made their way towards his clearly visible form, and with them came the slightly wraithlike boy.

As he got closer, Hagrid identified what it was that had so disturbed him about the boy - he was too composed. Whilst all around him his peers were gaping and watching in awe, he watched impassively, giving nothing away in either body language or expression.

He treated the nighttime view of Hogwarts Castle as he had treated everything else this day - with not disdain, nor disinterest, but with a curiously detached curiosity that was almost unsettling. It reminded Hagrid of the way muggle scientists watched and analysed their specimens through a microscope.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall, Transfigurations Mistress and Deputy Principal of Hogwarts, watched the new batch of first years from the top of the stairs, as she had done for the last twenty or so years. She saw faces she recognized in the crowd - that one's mother had been one of her favourite students; that boy's older brother was the bane of her fifth year classes. There was a flash of red hair - that would be the eldest Weasley boy - Bill if she remembered correctly.

And there...that flash of black hair and white skin, a perfect profile and a smooth, graceful walk...a mirror reflection of a woman McGonagall had thought she knew, thought she had befriended. This would be Anne's son, Lucien.

Anne de Sauvigny, who at seventeen had captured the eye and interest of the late, elderly Marc Malfoy, and had borne him a bastard son whom she abandoned almost immediately after birth. Anne, who had then swiftly married her cousin Aethan, the de Sauvigny heir, and in the same year given birth to another, legitimate son. And yes - a flash of golden hair, bright laughing blue eyes in an almost identical face to his half-brother's and there he was - Caine de Sauvigny, legitimate and beloved, unquestioned lord of the de Sauvigny children...he glowed, and warmth seemed to radiate from him.

She wondered if they knew of each other's existence, and if they did what they would do when they inevitably met.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore glanced at Professor Snape, the youngest professor on his staff, and then at the young boy who had just entered the Hall with the rest of the first years. Snape, his face impassive and black eyes unreadable, was watching young Lucien Malfoy, and young Malfoy himself was watching another boy, golden and laughing, surrounded by friends and family, while he himself stood silently on the fringes.

To Dumbledore, the scene was overlaid by an older one, twelve years old, where a dark haired Severus Snape watched, as Malfoy did, from the shadows as James Potter and his friends glowed in all their Gryffindoric glory.

It was eerily familiar, but Dumbledore hoped that this time the events would play out differently - that this time the inevitable and age-old conflict between Slytherin and Gryffindor and the accompanying prejudice against Slytherin would not push a painfully young boy into the hands of the Dark Lord.

* * *

And Severus Snape, seeing his own past in the tableau as Dumbledore had, prayed that he had enough influence over young Luc Malfoy that he could keep him from the Dark Side. He had known Luc since he was seven, and Snape nineteen - when sadistic Death Eaters had overdosed the beautiful young boy with dranath, an aphrodisiac that all Malfoys were severely allergic to, and had come running to the Potions Master to heal Lord Voldemort's young, and very valuable toy.

The young Severus Snape, already slightly disillusioned with the Death Eaters, had taken one look at Luc and lost all loyalty he might have had for the Dark Lord. This was too much - the boy was only seven years old, but his eyes were ancient, and filled with knowledge no child should ever possess.

To those with Malfoy blood, dranath caused severe hallucinations and raised their sexuality and sensitivity to uncontrollable heights - causing complete loss of sexual control, extreme amplification of all sensation and major emotional trauma and stress. To a young boy, already weakened by casual torture and mental and physical abuse, it was almost fatal - Luc nearly died before Snape's very eyes.

Watching the young boy struggle for breath and control, Snape's search for a cure somehow became an obsession. It seemed that his fate was tied up with Luc's, and that if Luc died, then somehow, somewhere, a light would go out in the world. Saving Luc's life became almost a quest for redemption - if he could heal this boy, then he would still, somehow, be worthy of the light and forgiveness. It would prove that there was something left of his soul, of the boy who had, long ago, taken pleasure in more than just death and destruction.

As he brewed the potion, he made sacred vows to God, the Devil and anyone else who might be listening that if Luc recovered, he would turn away from the Death Eaters, give himself up and beg forgiveness for every sin he had ever committed. He sealed it with his blood - a slash of his knife against his palm, leaving a scar as a visible reminder of his vow. And then he prayed, and as he prayed, he felt tears run down his face for the first time he could ever remember.

Silver eyes - silver-blue-violet eyes watched him with curious intensity as he held Luc's head to administer the potion. They were huge - filled with the echoes of pain, terror and, even now, unwilling desire along with a desperate weariness and the fading remnants of his will to live as he felt himself dying. But somewhere deep inside was hope, and the beginnings of a very, very tentative trust, formed while watching Snape almost kill himself to find the antidote.

As he swallowed the potion, a reluctant curiosity came into those eyes and focused on Snape, and then a very penetrating gaze that seemed to see into his very soul. Responding to the unconscious plea in Snape's eyes, Luc lifted his hand and touched the potion master's face.

_"You are not one of them,"_ came the soft, almost inaudible whisper. And with it came Snape's absolution.

* * *

Hogwarts. Luc had only been here once before, when Professor Snape had brought him back from the dranath overdose, and he had been far too sick to take in anything much about his surroundings. The few things he did remember were almost beyond belief.

Shifting staircases? Malfoy Manor was one of the most deeply magical sites in Britain, but it was nothing compared to Hogwarts. It reeked of magic and enchantment - to Luc, who classified magic and spells by the way they "tasted" and "smelled", the whole castle was an overwhelming sensory experience. The wards they had passed going over the lake had had the cool metallic taste of straightforward defensive magic that, if activated, could become quite nasty.

There had been other tastes - illusions, charms and enchantments, some of them subtle, others quite blunt but powerful - and all of them slightly different, depending on the individual "taste" of the spell and of the caster's individual magic.

He quickly toned down his sensitivity to magic before it completely overwhelmed him, and the whirl of impressions reluctantly faded to something more manageable.

But he let nothing of his inner thoughts show on his face or in his eyes. He had been too well trained for that, and he knew the consequences far too well. Weakness was pounced on and exploited ruthlessly and viciously, impassivity led to disgust and disinterest.

Any sign of a reaction was seen as a weakness, and so Luc had learned, at a very young age, to never show anything to the world. But, he sensed, it was acceptable to show interest in Hogwarts - only if it was interest, and not awe, and definitely not gawking. A jaded curiosity would probably be the best option.

And there - there, was a flash of golden hair. One of his fellow first years, tall and slim and bright, glowing as if illuminated by a ray of sunlight, or as if he had been blessed by the Gods themselves.

He stared in reluctant fascination at the golden-haired boy standing within the circle of his friends. He was the undoubted leader - the girls watched and giggled when he noticed them, and the boys watched in admiration and vied for his attention and his smile. He practically glowed with charisma - his smile could light up a pitch-black room.

This, then, was the half-brother Lucius had told him about - the child who had been wanted, who had been born in wedlock, who had never been flogged or raped and tortured simply because he was a bastard, and therefore he had no influence beyond that of his protector's.

This was Caine de Sauvigny, the Golden Child. The Heir.

Luc watched as the Golden Child looked up from his friends and gazed at him, first with mild curiosity, and then with narrowed eyes and hostility. He had recognized him, and made this clear by mouthing one word, accompanied by a faint smirk.

_Bastard._

The hatred was instantaneous and implacable.

* * *

Professor Snape, watching this, sighed. Children, he knew, far more so than adults, are capable of intense emotions and sudden judgments that last for a lifetime. As they grow older, they learn the dangers of first impressions and snap decisions, but in the first growing years, many of the impressions formed influence the rest of their lives. And if the love of a sheltered child is deep, strong and unswerving, then the hatred of an abused, deeply wounded child lasts forever and burns with white-hot intensity, even behind a mask of indifference and civility. 


	2. The Slytherin

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter or any of the things easily recognizable from the books. Luc and friends are mine, but their last names aren't, and Dirk Courtney is a name from Wilbur Smith's Courtney novels. The de Sauvigny (House and scions) are mine.

* * *

**The Stolen Generation**

Part 2 - The Slytherin

* * *

It was time for the Sorting. The Hat had sung its song, a rather uninspired ditty, and McGonagall had moved to stand in front of the assembled first years. Luc had ignored the first few names called, gazing instead at the ceiling and trying to analyse what spells had gone into it. But when she called out "de Sauvigny, Adam", he came back to himself and paid attention.

Adam de Sauvigny was a young boy, one of those who had surrounded the Golden Child, with dark hair and pale skin. He sat down on the chair and pulled the Hat on, then squirmed nervously while the Hat deliberated. Finally, when Adam looked almost terrified, it called out for the whole Hall to hear "GRYFFINDOR!" The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and Adam smiled in relief, jumping down to sit at the table with his fellow students.

"de Sauvigny, Caine" was the Golden Child, the leader, the Heir. Luc's grey eyes were fixed on him as he confidently stepped up and accepted the Hat. It took absolutely no time to place him, and he moved to the Gryffindor table as if he had never had a doubt in the world.

However, "de Sauvigny, Dominic", was placed in Slytherin. Luc watched Caine and Adam's faces as they underwent a curious transformation - as all the affection they might have felt for Dominic took second-place to Gryffindor- Slytherin rivalry and prejudice. He was no longer their cousin, but simply another Slytherin. Watching Dominic witness the first blows against a life- long friendship, Luc gained an insight into the prejudices that drove their world.

"de Sauvigny, Michel" joined his cousin in Slytherin, and once more Caine and Adam closed ranks against him. Luc idly wondered how they would survive without the light cast by the Golden Child's approval, but then dismissed the thought. It was really none of his business - he had nothing to do with the internal quarrels of the House of de Sauvigny.

Then, finally, it was his turn. "Malfoy, Lucien" was called and he made his own way up to the stool, sitting down as the Hat was placed on his head. He almost started when he heard its voice in his head.

_"Hmm, a Malfoy! That should automatically qualify you for Slytherin, but wait: the de Sauvigny are a mixed House - producing both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Perhaps you would...? But no, there is too much ruthlessness here, even at eleven, and ambition, oh my, you're ambitious - you've a thirst to prove yourself, don't you? Courage, oh yes, but tempered by cold pragmatism, and a complete lack of scruples, oh my boy, I pity whoever crosses you. And yet, you've a strong protective streak, and you know how to love - no, you've got morals boy, but they're entirely Slytherin ones. You're too cold, too strong for Gryffindor, but Slytherin... You could rule Slytherin. Yes, Slytherin will make you great._

And then it shouted aloud to the whole Hall "SLYTHERIN!", but there were very few who had ever doubted where he would end up. The Malfoys had always been Slytherins, and it seemed that this one, bastard or no, would be no different.

* * *

Dominic and Michel stuck close together as they entered the Slytherin common room with the other five first years. Dominic wondered, for a moment, whether the Hat had made a mistake with them - why had he been sorted into Slytherin, and Caine and Adam into Gryffindor?

He had seen, before he took the Hat off and went to sit in Slytherin, the exact moment when Caine and Adam had subconsciously disowned him. He knew, instinctively, that Caine would reject him from now on, and that he and Michel would have to make their own way in Hogwarts.

He looked at the other boys in their year, assessing them as his father, an astute businessman, had taught him to do. They all sat in a circle, watching each other, until the Prefect suggested that they introduce themselves.

Shan Andahni had thick blonde hair and dancing grey-green eyes, a quicksilver smile and a ready sense of the ridiculous, and his body was lithe, coordinated and very agile. He looked like a Gryffindor at first glance, but Dominic sensed that those eyes were far too keen underneath all the merriment.

His cousin, Rayden Lestrange, had white hair and pure green eyes, sharper features than Shan's regular ones, and a razor-sharp smile full of mockery and cynicism. His eyes were as sharp as his smile, and his whole body radiated a lazy grace that could, without warning, become deadly intensity.

Brandon Avery, dark haired and grey eyed, seemed at first glance to be, like the other two, eternally amused. His eyes were gently world weary, and he spoke with a quiet drawl, giving the impression that he was far too lazy to work up any energy at all. But his heavy-lidded eyes gleamed with intelligence and he moved with the smooth, coordinated grace of a dancer, or a trained fighter.

Andahni, Lestrange and Avery had all grown up more or less together, they were related somehow, and so were, if not tight-knit, then at least rather close friends. They didn't seem to be experiencing any awkwardness, and projected all the lazy confidence of lords surveying their own realm. Dominic wondered how much of it was a sham, and where they had learned never to show true emotion.

Second last to introduce himself was Dirk Courtney. Thick, rich gold hair framed dark blue eyes and almost perfect features and a sensual mouth, but his eyes were cold and cynical and his mouth was almost permanently fixed into an amused, mocking half-smile. His voice was rich and smooth, but Dominic suspected that he couldn't open his mouth without uttering any cutting comments or insults. The others seemed to be used to him though, simply ignoring the insults and talking to him normally. He sensed that Dirk was a loner - but if he ever gave his friendship, he would give it wholeheartedly, mocking and insulting all the while. It was simply part of who he was, and nothing would change it.

And lastly, when he and Michel and everyone else had introduced themselves, came the boy who had sat silently and watched during the introductions. His name was Lucien Malfoy - but call me Luc - and of all the first years, he was the only one that Dominic couldn't even read a little bit. All of the others had had excellent defenses, but Malfoy was...completely impassive. This probably meant he had more to hide than most, but whatever it was, he hid it well.

Jet-black hair, slightly longer than normal, framed features that, unlike Dirk's, were absolutely perfect, and silver eyes that saw everything and reflected nothing except a sense of burning intensity. Caine's eyes were confident, full of strength and self-assurance. He knew his place in the world, and was perfectly confident in it. But Luc Malfoy's eyes - there was something dangerous in those eyes, something untamed, something feral. If Caine glowed, then Luc burned.

* * *

Later that night, in the first year dormitory, Luc sat on a stool by the fire, unfocused eyes gazing through the flames into an inner landscape of memories, dreams and ambitions. He heard the whispering behind him, recognized the voices as the two de Sauvigny boys - Dominic and Michel. He supposed they were his cousins...but he had never really thought himself part of the House before. He was a Malfoy, and the Malfoy way was all he had ever known.

The whispering was increased as others joined in the conversation. Luc half- smiled, listening to the whispers, identifying the new voices. Andahni, Lestrange and Avery - with Courtney sitting apart as he usually did.

Here in this room were the children of some of the oldest, richest and most powerful families in British wizarding society. Each of them was pureblooded, with a lineage tracing back to the Founding at least. And apart from Dominic and Michel, every single child in this room was the son or brother of a Death Eater. He wondered whether the two innocents among them would survive.

The whispering had stopped. Glancing at the whisperers out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Dominic and Michel were eyeing him warily; glancing at each other, then back at the other three, who gave them little shooing motions. Through his other eye he looked at Dirk, who was also watching the little tableau. Dirk's blue eyes met his, and there was amusement in their depths, as well as a warning. Luc closed his eyes wearily and sighed soundlessly.

Evidently this was an interrogation, and the two de Sauvigny had been chosen as the sacrificial lambs. Really, those two were far too innocent for their own good. He turned his head when one of them - Michel? - coughed apologetically. Yes, Michel had coughed; Michel was black haired and blue eyed, Dominic was black haired and green eyed. Other than that, he couldn't see any discernable differences between them. Yet.

Watching them shift nervously from foot to foot, he took pity on them and raised an eyebrow. Then concealed his amusement as they searched for a suitable opening gambit. Dominic, the dominant one of the two, took the lead.

"Umm," he began. Luc heard a smothered, choked sound from where Dirk was sitting, but ignored it and kept his eyes on Dominic's.

Michel took up the initiative. "Is it true?" He blurted out hurriedly. "I mean, what they say about you." Rayden closed his eyes and Shan's eyes danced with unholy glee. Brandon simply watched, but a small smile flirted with the edge of his mouth.

"They?" Luc decided not to make it easy for them.

Dominic flushed. "I mean, what Caine says about you. Is it true?" Ah, Caine, the Golden Child.

"As I have never met Caine, I'm afraid that I don't know what it is he says about me..."

"Oh...you know, about the Potions Master and all..." Across the room, Rayden, Shan and Brandon had gone still; evidently, this was not what they had wanted them to ask, or if it was they hadn't expected them to breach it so tactlessly. Dirk was watching intently, his blue eyes cold with warning. All the boys in the room bar Dominic and Michel knew what that name meant to Luc, but only Dirk knew anything firsthand. Sensing that they had made an enormous faux pas, they hurried on with their questions.

"Does it have anything to do with Professor Snape?"

Throughout all this Luc's face had not changed expression, his muscles had not tensed, his pulse had remained steady and his pupils had not contracted. But something in his eyes must have given him away, because Dominic took an involuntary step back, and changed the subject.

"Ahh, Luc...do you mind if I ask you a rather...personal question?" Amusement flashed through Luc at this, but he only raised an eyebrow and said, "By all means. Please do."

"Why...why are you a Malfoy?"

"My father was a Malfoy, de Sauvigny."

"Yes, I know, but your mother..."

"My mother was seventeen and unwed when she had me. As soon as she could walk she left me with my father and married Aethan de Sauvigny. Is that what you were asking?"

He could see even Brandon wincing.

"So Caine really is your half-brother?"

"Yes, he really is."

"Oh. Well then, thanks."

"You're quite welcome, de Sauvigny." And with that, he got up and walked off. Michel would have followed, but Dominic restrained him. (Come on, Misha; don't be more stupid than we already were...) When he walked past Rayden and friends they made a small hand sign, (apologies) which he acknowledged with a slight nod. As it became clear he was leaving the dorm, Dirk got up to follow him. No one stopped him, but Luc didn't look back.

* * *


	3. Alliances

Disclaimer - once again, I do not own Harry Potter and I probably never will. 

The ardeur is the creation of Laurell K Hamilton, and once again I have taken the liberty of fiddling with it to fit my in with my story.

* * *

**Part 3 - The alliance**

* * *

Dirk Courtney was the youngest son of Gabriel Courtney, one of the most feared among the Dark Lord's special "Inquisitors." These Death Eaters played the same role as the Muggle Dominican priests had in the Spanish Inquisition - they rooted out Ministry sympathizers and punished them, tortured captured Aurors, and searched ceaselessly for any evidence of disloyalty to the Lord. Any unfortunate Death Eaters found to be less than perfectly loyal met a horrible, slow and painful end.

And because of his privileged position, Voldemort had allowed Gabriel Courtney to bring his young son to a Death Eater meeting and the revel afterwards. This was a very great privilege, as usually fully-fledged Death Eaters were allowed to attend. Dirk remembered that he had been terribly proud and excited at the prospect, believing that he would finally be able to meet the Dark Lord he so longed to serve. The reality had been somewhat different.

He had gone into Malfoy Manor at his father's side, completely protected by the power and reputation of the Lord of House Courtney, second-in-command of the Inquisitors. No one there would have dared to touch him, and he had reveled in it. Evidence of his father's power and standing was everywhere - the way they averted their eyes when he came near, or the slight wariness in their manner as they spoke with him.

Only three people were completely at ease in his presence: Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort himself, and Severus Snape - the leader of the Inquisitors.

The Potions Master, they called him - for the deadly concoctions he created in order to aid in his inquisitions, and for the research he conducted during these sessions. A tall, lean man with a lithe, unexpected strength, his hair was jet black, as black as his piercing, emotionless eyes. He couldn't have been any older than twenty-one, but even then he'd had a physical presence strong enough to dominate even Dirk's father.

And by his side, almost in his shadow, had been a boy.

A young boy of about Dirk's age - some nine years old - with waist length black hair and a stunningly beautiful face. He wore black silk robes that covered every part of his body except his face and hands, and never once raised his gaze from the ground, but he exuded a sexual aura so strong that it affected even Dirk, who was far too young for such things.

His father quickly moved them away from the Potions Master and his disturbing companion, and went on to talk to someone relatively safer.

But Dirk, his curiosity stirred by the sight of someone his own age, could not forget the boy and the way he had stood in the Potions Master's shadow like a trained dog, or like an obedient whore. Oh, yes, he knew about the whores to be had at the Malfoy Manor - his father talked to him as a mature adult, and he was far from innocent. But most of them were prisoners, or unfortunate Muggle women.

He had never seen one his own age, and the boy was clearly not a Muggle - Dirk had felt the power he exuded, and that level of power could only have come from a pureblood scion of one of the oldest and most powerful wizarding Houses.

His gaze wandered over the guests and their various forms of 'entertainment', and almost as if drawn, came to rest on the boy again, standing by his Master's side, eyes downcast and submissive. Again, as if drawn, the boy's head came up and he turned, his gaze finding Dirk's, intersecting and connecting, sending a jolt down Dirk's spine.

Even from across the room, he could see that the boy's eyes were silver. Malfoy silver.

* * *

Later that night, as the party was winding down, he saw the boy again, only this time he wasn't standing in the shadow of Snape's robes. Out of curiosity, fascination and what he would one day realize was part of the other's glamour; he made his way over to meet him.

The other became aware of him the moment he came near, but made no move to stop him or to move away. Encouraged, Dirk came closer, forgetting in his curiosity to don his habitual sneer.

As they came face to face, he saw that the other's eyes were indeed Malfoy silver, set in an extraordinary face - but behind the beauty was a mask of submissiveness, of obedience, and deep in the eyes, far, far too old for such a young boy, was a determination and a strength that burned like the sun. And then the mask came down again, and he was facing the impassive mannequin of before.

Nevertheless, he offered his hand, remembering at the last minute to sneer. It was important, at the beginning of such a negotiation, to show that one had the upper hand.

"I'm Dirk Courtney," he said, "and my father is-"

"Gabriel Courtney," said the other. "I know." In their case, the upper hand meant having the most powerful relatives or guardians. Or protectors, his mind whispered.

The other boy studied him for a minute, sizing him up before he took his hand.

"Malfoy," he said. "Luc Malfoy."

"You're Lucius' son?" Lucius, powerful though he was, was no more than twenty-one years old, and this boy was his age. As precocious as pureblood aristocrats were, twelve years old was a bit much. However, now that he thought about it, there had been times...but no, if he were Lucius' son, then he wouldn't be playing whore to the Potions Master, would he?

Because Dirk was now almost certain that that was what the boy - Luc - was doing.

"No," Luc answered, amused. "My father was Marc Malfoy." Marc Malfoy who died, three years ago, at age sixty-six. His wife had died fifteen years ago, and he had not remarried in the interim time.

Which meant..."You're a bastard, aren't you." Luc didn't even flinch at the insult that could have provoked a duel even now. And that meant that he had had practice at not flinching. "That's why you cling to Snape, isn't it? Because Lucius won't protect you, and you can't survive in this world without a protector."

Luc raised an eyebrow, neither acknowledging nor denying anything. But Dirk knew he was right, knew it with a bone-deep certainty that would prove useful in later years. And because he knew, he didn't follow up on his interrogation, preferring instead to let Luc save face by allowing him his silence.

Luc, understanding this, inclined his head lightly to Dirk, in a gesture that conveyed thanks, amusement and arrogance all in one.

Then, having had the measure of each other - Luc appreciating Dirk's insight and discretion, and Dirk admiring Luc's strength and his ruthless determination in choosing and holding a protector - they shook hands and went their separate ways, each with the knowledge that they had formed a connection that could become useful later on.

* * *

Gabriel Courtney, watching this interaction from across the room, nodded once to himself in satisfaction. The boys had learned their lessons well. Pureblood wizarding society, especially the ancient Houses who were hereditary Slytherins, was ruled by the delicate dance of influence and power known as the Game - and scions of these Houses learned to play it in their cradles.

The boy, Luc Malfoy, looked as if he would one day be a magnificent player, despite - or perhaps because of - his bastardy. The one thing that set him apart would drive him harder than ever towards success. And with him on that road to success, perhaps even beside him, would be young Dirk Courtney.

Because Dirk, if he'd pushed hard enough, could have stripped him of all his face tonight, and had chosen not to. Luc would remember that. Because in the game, face was everything.

* * *

Of course, the friendship didn't automatically originate there. It manifested itself slowly in the guise of mutual appreciation and respect, disguised, for the sake of face, as a relationship based on insult, mockery and a half-serious enmity.

They both had formidable weapons at their disposal; Dirk used his facile tongue and manipulative skills as his primary weapons, Luc preferred to use his ardeur - his wandless magic, his aura - to cause trouble. Because he had never been trained to use magic, he had learned to use the hereditary inborn magical ability of House Malfoy instead - and could now manipulate the ardeur with almost frightening skill.

Frightening, because the ardeur was essentially sex magic - it drew on the sexual energy of anyone in range, and used that energy to strengthen Luc's own power - generating an aura that heightened feelings of lust in people around Luc, and then feeding off that energy in a cycle that he had learned to control but would never be able to stop.

It was part of him, like his hair and eye colour; he had grown so used to using the ardeur for all his magical needs that he now found it extremely difficult to use a wand for casting spells.

But the ardeur could be used for more than just ordinary magic - it could induce lust in others, whether willing or not; could heighten, create or even recreate sensation to the point where illusion was indistinguishable from reality. Sex and illusion - the original sources of House Malfoy's power and influence - had been honed by the ardeur into subtle, poisoned and ultimately deadly weapons.

So it wasn't really a surprise that Luc won most of their little skirmishes, mainly because he was more ruthless than Dirk; he had less scruples and was willing to go much farther in pursuit of victory. However when Dirk complained of it to his father once, his reply shaped most of Dirk's attitude towards Luc ever after.

_"He is growing up in the shadows, Dirk, in Malfoy Manor, with no-one to tell him the difference between right and wrong, and no one to shape his mind and thoughts but for the ghosts of ancient Malfoys, his elder brother and the Dark Lord himself. Knowing this, knowing them, is there any wonder that he doesn't play fair? I think you know what happens to the weak and helpless in that house."_

The only restraint the Death Eaters ever bowed to was that of ultimate force - and the only law was survival of the fittest. Voldemort only ruled because he was the strongest, the most feared, and the most ruthless. If he ever weakened, the Death Eaters would turn on him and tear him apart - loyalty and genuine belief in his ideals were all but nonexistent.

* * *

Gabriel Courtney was also musing on this conversation as he watched the young Potionmaster's Apprentice during a Dark Revel at the Manor. The boy was no more than ten years old, but already he exuded sex in subtle clouds - and not just straight sex, but promises of dark, debauched, sadistic and bloody acts of sin glimmered in those silver eyes and in his aura.

He was far, far too young for that; physically he was the same age as Dirk; mentally - his eyes were feral, jaded, and cold...oh, so cold.

The thing that horrified even Gabriel, master torturer that he was, was the look in Luc's eyes that said he was enjoying the victim's pain. Not that that was uncommon - but the ardeur was an almost empathic gift - it worked both ways, he could feel their pain, and if he chose vice versa - and if the lust the ardeur produced was a rush, then pain, and even better, death, seemed to cause an orgasmic thrill that nothing could compare to.

And that was something that he hoped Dirk would never know, much less experience. One could be a Death Eater without craving pain and death - such desires became cravings, which very quickly became addictions - and Gabriel suspected that Luc, introduced to the game early, would never quite lose the desire for the ultimate thrill.

* * *


	4. Explanations

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. The sidhe are also creations of Laurell K Hamilton, and the idea of the High Clan (singular and plural, scion and family as a whole) I first found in Peter Morwood's Horse Lord series. No doubt I've seen variations elsewhere.

* * *

**Part 4 - Explanations**

* * *

Growing up in one of the oldest, coldest aristocratic families in wizarding society, Luc had had the appropriate manners and behaviour drummed, and quite often flogged into him. He knew exactly who was beneath his status, who was beneath him, and whom he could treat as an equal, and how to react towards them.

He had grown up steeped in the unwritten code - never show emotion, never create a scene, never air one's dirty linen in public. Never, ever display discourtesy, or even worse, vulgarity. In fact, never display more than the appropriate social mask of urbane amusement or cynical ennui.

Walking out of the dormitory had been discourteous - Courtney, Lestrange and friends would notice it and see it as the admission of vulnerability it was, even if the two de Sauvigny wouldn't. Cursing himself, even as he knew it had been unavoidable, he walked into the common room and stood by the fire.

He didn't turn at the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Don't say it, Dirk."

"Wasn't going to," came the reply, inordinately cheerful. "You know it, anyway."

Luc's breath came out in a slow, thoughtful hiss. "I know."

"Well, then. Are you coming back up?"

"Later."

"'K." And he walked off, leaving Luc to gaze into the fire and wonder, somewhat wryly, how it was that Dirk knew him so well.

Dirk went back to the dormitory, to the open curiosity of the de Sauvigny boys and the more discreet, veiled calculation in the other's eyes. He ignored it and went straight to bed.

* * *

He was right of course, Luc mused. Walking out had all but been an admission that the topic had disturbed him - he could not afford to be overly sensitive about his reputation and his relationship with Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin House.

It was common knowledge in Slytherin; it would only become an issue if Snape showed him any marked attention, and then it would only cause titillation. But if Luc indicated that he was uncomfortable with it, or gave even the smallest hint that he wasn't, in fact, Severus Snape's whore...

And his reaction in the dormitory had been, to the four Slytherin, high born eyes, a case of his protesting too much.

It had been easy, horrifyingly easy, really, to captivate a man's soul. Even at seven the level of his wandless, inborn magic had been uncommonly high. Boosted by desperation, terror and dranath, he had easily been strong enough to create an involuntary bond with Snape...unfortunately, due to the nature of his ardeur, and his reputation as victim, it was assumed that Luc paid for Snape's protection with sex.

He had been willing to pay that price four years ago, but Snape was strictly heterosexual, not steeped in the darker, more twisted sexuality of the Malfoy Clan and their contemporaries.

The Malfoy could trace their lineage back 2,500 years to Brandon Andenais, an Unseelie Sidhe of the Blood Royal, albeit on the wrong side of the blanket. His relentless quest for power and land had led to his being called "bad faith", a name that he had embraced with pride, passing it on to his descendants.

An exile from the sidhe court, he had nevertheless shared their prejudices - he'd had no inhibitions about sex, and had embraced all forms and variations on the act; a trait he had also passed onto his descendants, and so strongly it had survived intact through the Puritan and Victorian eras. The Malfoy were perhaps the oldest and most mysterious of the Clans - while they co-existed with the rest of society, they had their own customs, beliefs and ways. Isolated in the deepest heart of Wales, time had somehow passed by the Malfoy, their land and their people, with whom they shared a curious symbiotic relationship.

However, this had not in any way diminished their power or influence, wielded from the shadows through puppets and agents. Oh no, there was nothing obvious or blatant about the Malfoy - that would be déclassé, distasteful, and in extreme cases, sordid.

But hypocrisy was a way of life among the High Clans, and the man who had been drilled never to be involved in anything vulgar or sordid could entertain his colleagues at Dark Revels where alcohol, drugs and whores were dispensed with a generous hand and public displays of sex and torture were commonplace.

Lucius maintained an air of jaded cynicism and ennui during these times, but he was always one of the main participants.

Luc had nothing against sex or torture - very often there was little difference between the two - but he believed that they should be a private matter, conducted without anybody else looking on. Blood, alcohol and drugs yes, but not copious amounts of them, and not so that the next day one had to pick sodden drunks and addicts up off the floor, and not so that the carpets were ruined.

* * *

His mood soured by the thought of such vulgarity, Luc went back to the dormitory. Already it was beginning to feel like home, more so than the rich, soulless suite he inhabited at the Manor.

Warm candlelight gleamed on polished antique wooden furniture and paneling and rich, thick embroidered tapestries. The stone floor was covered by Persian rugs, every one an individual masterpiece, centuries old...understated sensual opulence; that perfect balance of colour, placement and material that made up true elegance.

It appealed to Luc on a bone deep level - whoever the long dead decorator had been, they had had true taste, which was more than he could say for some of the other places he had seen in Hogwarts.

He could come to like it here. It was...safe.

Taking one last look around at his dorm mates, the boys who would be closer than family for the next seven years, he felt a sense of rightness there too. They were children of his class - aristocrats every one of them, with nothing vulgar or pushing in their manners, and well versed in the expectations of the High Clan.

Raised in true Slytherin families, they were cunning, ambitious, competitive and highly intelligent - and every one of them, he knew very well, wanted to get as far away from Voldemort's legacy and influence as they could.

Except for the two de Sauvigny...his gaze shifted to his two cousins. The House of de Sauvigny was High Clan in that they were descended from one of the original Lord Malfoy's disowned sons, but they were unusual in that they were not a hereditary Slytherin House as all the other High Clan were - de Sauvigny children were either sorted into Slytherin or Gryffindor, with no exceptions. In the last century they had been increasingly Gryffindor, but it was not unusual to see de Sauvigny in Slytherin.

But these two...they were Gryffindors to the bone. Their parents were Gryffindors, and so were their aunts, uncles and cousins. So what on earth were they doing in Slytherin, away from Caine's golden charisma and their families' hopes and prejudices?

They were gauche, tactless, and far too easy to read - unless they learned quickly, they would drown in undercurrents they would never see. However, they were quite intelligent, and, from Michel's reactions to their earlier faux pas, he at least knew when they had done something wrong and had the instincts to try to rectify it. Perhaps they could be trained, if someone took them under their wing.

And considering he was their closest blood relative in Slytherin, the task would probably fall to him. In the ancient tangle of intrigue, betrayals and ambition that was High Clan politics, the closest allies were those bound to you by blood - friends were good for companionship, but they had their own agenda, and the only ones you could rely on were blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, the children of your Clan.

Shared blood was the strongest bond of all.

* * *


	5. The First Day Ambitions

Okay, I've only got one review, but it's a very nice one (thank you, Demeter!) so I'll keep posting even though I feel slightly unappreciated (hint, hint ). I believe there is a plot here somewhere, and yes, I will bring Snape in soon. I just want to explore the characters (seeing as I made them up myself) first. 

Disclaimer - Harry Potter and his world are not mine (oh, but what a thought), um, the idea of a "noble house" and a "tai-pan" are from James Clavell's books Tai-pan and Noble House.

* * *

**Ambitions**

* * *

Rayden awoke instantly, remembered where he was, and lay for a moment, luxuriating in the knowledge that he was (at least at the moment) safe. Safe from the Dark Lord, safe from overzealous aurors, and most of all, safe from his dangerously unstable elder brother, who had been sent to Azkaban some six months ago. For which he gave solemn thanks everyday, to the gods of the grove and anyone else who would listen.

The day Caius and his bitch of a wife had been committed had been the happiest day of his life - second only to when he had learned he would be staying with his uncle Andahni. At last, finally, he was safe. It was a good feeling.

Rolling over in bed, he automatically checked on his cousin. Shan was two months younger than he, and less scarred by grim reality - by less, that didn't mean much, but it meant that Shan still trusted enough to feel positive emotion, while Rayden's soul felt like a barren desert where only cynicism, bitterness and suspicion ruled.

And it meant that Rayden loved his cousin more than anything else in the world, and that anyone who tried to hurt Shan would be eliminated. He no longer had any qualms about killing - growing up with an uncle and a brother inside Voldemort's inner circle had destroyed any respect he might ever have felt for human life, the law or for social norms.

However, he did know how to play the game, how to hide in plain sight behind a Mask - they all did - Shan used mischievous good humour and gamin smile, Luc had jaded ennui and cynical amusement, and Rayden used, along with Dirk, razor sharp nastiness and sarcasm. They were all defense mechanisms.

Looking to the other Slytherin boy in the dorm (the two de Sauvigny he ignored for now - they were not true Slytherins in his eyes yet), Rayden's eyes gleamed in amusement.

Brandon Avery.

Arrogant, self-centred, world-weary Brandon, who defied his father at every turn with his feline indifference, mocked his fanatical loyalty to Voldemort with his ennui and knowing smile, and constantly infuriated him through complete indifference to anything that didn't concern himself.

How much of his egocentrism was real and how much was affected Rayden didn't know - Brandon was a very private person, and he had always gone his own way before now.

The superficial alliance with Rayden and Shan was just that - superficial. They were not quite friends and more than acquaintances - the Avery's had no close blood ties to Clan Lestrange or the Andahni, so there was nothing binding in their loose knit friendship. But he saw the world very clearly, through those heavy-lidded grey eyes.

And then his reflections were interrupted, for the other boys were waking up. Luc, with his customary sensual grace, made getting out of bed into an almost X-rated show. Rayden wondered if he ever did anything normally.

Dirk watched him move with a curious look in his unguarded eyes - amusement, irritation, but over it all was a look of...admiration, attraction. So that was why Dirk stuck with Luc - he was entangled with the Malfoy's sticky web of sex magic. Enough exposure and attraction could develop into obsession.

Rayden didn't think Dirk was that badly affected - it was more likely that an accident happened and Dirk got an unshielded blast of the ardeur, giving him a mild case of infatuation that would wear off eventually, if it was not acted on.

Luc was careful to tone down the amount of leakage from his shields so that it was only a mild, very mild stimulation, like a far off humming and a subliminal feeling of warmth in his presence. Rayden had only met Lucius Malfoy once, when he was letting the full strength of his ardeur show, and it had felt like an actual physical thrumming, a vibration that had hurt his teeth and given him a headache. From the look on his brother's and his uncle's face, it was doing much more to them.

Dirk, once he had watched Luc disappear into the bathroom, swung his feet out of bed and started stretching, concealing a small yawn behind his hand.

Shan was stirring; pushing himself up on his elbows because he slept on his stomach, face down into the pillow. He looked up around the room; face slack and bemused with sleep, before yawning and pushing himself all the way up to a sitting position. Always more open than the rest of his fellows, he was scowling. Shan was not a morning person.

Brandon, also exiting his bed immediately, was performing his morning exercises - warming up stretches designed to get the blood flowing and his muscles moving easily.

Luc was doing the same thing by having a scalding hot shower - in his own way, with his frank sensuality; he was as self-absorbed as Brandon.

And then there was Michel and Dominic, who were both still asleep, with the blankets over their heads, as if they wished they'd wake up and find out it had all been a dream, and they were really sleeping in Gryffindor Tower. They were in for a shock when they first came face to face with the reality of Slytherin - with what lay behind the elegant façade.

Rayden didn't hate them, or even feel contempt for their complete openness - he was simply distantly curious to see how they would fare, and whether Luc would acknowledge them as blood and take them under his wing. As he had never actually been acknowledged as part of Clan de Sauvigny, he had no obligation to have anything at all to do with its members.

Their success and subsequent standing in Slytherin relied on Luc Malfoy's whim - Rayden almost felt sorry for them.

Catching the direction of Rayden's gaze, Brandon smiled.

"Do you think he'll let them sink?" Avery's voice was cool, disinterested and indifferent. His eyes were amused and speculative - here was a way to see how the bastard Malfoy, a complete enigma to most of them, thought.

"I don't know. He's never been acknowledged..."

"But that can be changed.there is a precedent. Quite an influential one..."

Rayden knew what he was saying.

Six hundred years ago Fulk FitzOwen, a bastard son of House Goyle, had risen to the leadership of his clan by the simple expedient of promising to swear nominal allegiance to the Malfoy, who had then used all of their considerable influence to eliminate all other rivals. The fact that he subsequently went back on his promise, earning the enmity of House Malfoy was irrelevant - the High Council validated his claim, and the precedent for legitimizing bastard sons and allowing them to rule was established.

However, it was more often used as a warning for those who wished to cross the Malfoy, who, once they had all but destroyed the Clan for Fulk's disloyalty, had installed a very distant cousin as lord, after he had pledged the Clan and all its descendents as complete vassals to House Malfoy. Thus the Goyles fell even further than the ambitious Fulk had planned, and in the six hundred years since, had never regained their former position.

"The de Sauvigny would never acknowledge Luc. He's far too ambitious - he'd do anything he could to become tai-pan and rule the House. It's too dangerous, and they have too much to lose."

"I think you have it wrong, Lestrange. It's Malfoy who has nothing to lose; have faith."

"Even so, they have too much to lose - frankly, had I been the tai-pan, I would have killed him the first time I knew of his existence. A child, raised by and completely loyal to the Malfoy, with a blood tie to the Clan leadership? Bastard or no, it's too much of a risk." The tai-pan was the head of House de Sauvigny, and the ruler of its vast trading empire, known only as "the House". And at the moment, the current tai-pan was Luc's stepfather.

"Ah, but you are a Slytherin. And the tai-pan is a Gryffindor." Suddenly he smiled, a bright, vivid grin that lit up his whole face. "Twenty galleons says he is tai-pan before he turns twenty-one."

Rayden considered, then nodded. "Done. Not even a Gryffindor would be foolish enough to let him live."

Shan and Dirk, who had been discreetly eavesdropping, chose to make their presence known; Shan supporting his cousin's view, and Dirk siding with Avery. Dirk added his own opinion, saying with amusement, "And twenty galleons says he kills the Golden Child on the way."

Rayden snorted. "No bet." They had all seen the way the two half-brothers looked at each other.

More speculation would have followed, save that Luc chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom. Encountering four pairs of amused and frankly speculative eyes, he only raised an eyebrow.

Surprisingly it was Shan who took the plunge. "We were just wondering how long it would take you to become tai-pan, and exactly how you would get there."

The other eyebrow went up in response. "Tai-pan? I am a bastard, gentlemen, and a Malfoy. There is a rather educational precedent..." But there was a determined glint in his eyes, a glimpse of steel beneath the elegant façade. And not one of them doubted that he would either become tai-pan of the House of de Sauvigny, or die trying.


	6. The First day Breakfast

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter, and it's probably a good thing that I don't (just imagine what I could do with it...) I don't think there's anything else that I borrowed in this chapter. All the rest must be mine. 

A/N Snape gets some screen time in this chapter - (Death Eater Snape...oooohhh)

* * *

**Breakfast**

* * *

At the breakfast table that morning, after their shower and ablutions, the two de Sauvigny cousins seemed to be more accustomed to the idea of being in Slytherin. At least, they began to observe and absorb, watching the other High Clan children, and, in a very Slytherin way, evaluating them. Last night, they had seemed to make an effort to analyse their surroundings and peers, but judging by the questions they had asked Luc, they had not come to an intelligent conclusion. But today they seemed more alert and had learned, at least, to think before they spoke.

Luc had still not declared his attentions regarding them, so before Rayden classed them as victim or outcast, he waited to see whether Malfoy would take them under his wing or not. If he did decide to play mentor, then it would not be politic to make any hostile moves towards them quite yet.

This attitude seemed to be reflected in the other, older students as well. Although they were older and more familiar with Hogwarts than the first years, the name Malfoy was still synonymous with power and influence - even if Luc was a bastard son. They waited, holding off from alienating Dominic and Michel, or from involving them as pawns in their endless power plays, until they found out whether they were under Malfoy protection or not.

Every move, word and glance, even at the breakfast table on the first day back at school, was filled with significance, double meanings and deception. Alliances were evaluated and reevaluated, enemies made or acknowledged, or even neutralized and turned into allies, and the whole House watched the first years to see what, if any use, could be made of them.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, there was an earnest philosophical discussion in progress, it looked to be quite involving - there were even one or two quite passionate debaters that looked as though they might come to blows soon. It must be quite a heated issue to cause that much passion in the normally cool Ravenclaws.

At the Hufflepuff table, the students were diligently eating their breakfasts, eating solidly and methodically in order to provide enough energy for their long day. There was conversation there, but of the most everyday and practical kind. If there were pranksters there, they would be of the harmless and uninspired sort, and there would be no malice whatsoever in their fun.

And there, on the other side, were the Gryffindors. Rowdy, disobedient, mischievous and irrepressible, they were creating a hideous din, throwing food, laughing and playing tricks on each other. There would be no straight- faced deceit and hypocrisy in Gryffindor - any intrigue would be straightforward, blunt and disastrously unsubtle. Rayden shuddered. It was a horrifying thought, to a child bought up on Machiavelli, involved since birth in a convoluted web of shadows, deceit and murder, and who saw hostile intent in any gesture made without apparent motive.

Outside the family, the Clan, there was no such thing as compassion, or altruism and unselfishness. Strangers did not help total strangers unless they wanted something, and kindness and generosity always, always came with strings attached. That was why the Slytherins were all so suspicious of Dumbledore, who seemed to care for all his students equally, no matter their house or their parentage. It was so alien to them and their creed.

Professor Snape, who was a Death Eater, had motives they could understand. He had a very nice and inviolable spot here, teaching and looking after the children of his peers, and Dumbledore was the Head of the Order of the Phoenix, so his staying here and spying was understandable. But the headmaster...he was an enigma. And anyone whose motives couldn't be understood, anyone who didn't seem to have a price and who couldn't be bought - they were to be watched with great suspicion, for they posed the greatest threats. They were dangerous.

Watching, Rayden counted three overtures that he saw made to Malfoy and received two himself. He saw Dirk Courtney array himself firmly beside Malfoy at his right hand, and they were duly acknowledged as a duo. Rayden, Shan and Brandon were acknowledged as a loose alliance, Brandon being the weak link, and he saw several people eye him thoughtfully. He saw the considering looks directed to the two de Sauvigny, and there...there it was. The acknowledgement. Luc's first step towards becoming tai-pan.

Ethan Glyndower, a fourth-year from a secondary branch of a third-rate Clan made a stage-whispered observation about the way Dominic was holding his wine glass. Hearing this, Dominic glared at him and drew his wand to hex him - any sport the table might have seen, no matter how improper, from this was quashed when Luc immobilized them both with a slight flick of his index finger (a quite impressive display of power which cemented him a place of respect in Slytherin).

In the sudden silence, in a light, cultured drawl he asked Michel to pass the salt, even though Michel was three places down from him and there was a salt shaker right next to his elbow. As an establishment of authority and submission, it was subtly done, marking Michel as his and under his authority.

And as for Dominic, after lightly salting his food, he turned to his frozen cousin, undid the binding and murmured, "It's not polite to duel at the table, cousin..." Dominic flushed, but for the first time he saw the effect Luc's words had on the table, the subtle relief and recalculation, and he turned a futile glare on his unwanted cousin, who merely raised an eyebrow and glanced at Michel, who was oblivious of the significance of the salt-passing or Luc's acknowledgement of their relationship.

The message was clear - _do you want to protect Michel? I am your best hope_. So Luc added two cousins to his fold, as apprentices to be trained in the ways of Slytherin. And they would be interfered with at the antagonist's peril.

* * *

A black shadow fell over the Slytherin students, cast by the looming form of the Potions Master. Every student there knew of his reputation, of the services he performed for the Dark Lord, and of the power he wielded over the Inner Circle - and there was not one child there who did not fear him.

Cool, unreadable black eyes swept over them, inspecting the first years with detached, ruthless intelligence, and they watched him back with helpless fascination.

Then he saw Luc.

"Mr. Malfoy," came the smooth, velvet voice. "I believe you are fitting in well?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer - blank grey eyes staring fearlessly into black.

The Potions Master's eyes took on a distinctly cruel look as he reached long, elegant fingers into Luc's hair, then steadily pulled his head back until his neck was arched back to the point of pain. The fearlessness, the very eye contact had been a mark of defiance.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy?" The velvet voice acquired a distinct, razor sharp edge.

Slowly, oh so slowly, dark lashes veiled the silver eyes as he submissively lowered his gaze. The cool arrogance that had characterized him before disappeared, replaced with complete impassivity and an air of...obedience.

"Yes, my master," he murmured.

This was not Luc Malfoy, this was the Potions Master's Whore - the cool dispassionate doll who lived only to serve and satisfy his master. The tool who could watch and experience torture and atrocities and show absolutely no reaction other than a mild amusement. The persona Luc tried so hard to forget and to shed, without anything more than superficial success.

A look of cool satisfaction entered Snape's eyes, and a mirthless smile curved his lips. "Very good, Mr. Malfoy. See that you remember." With a last, possessive caress he released Luc's hair and, with a last, comprehensive glance at his Slytherins, he glided off.

Luc, still in blank mode, glanced around at the rest of the table, eyes daring anyone to say anything at all. Faced with his direct gaze, no one could meet his eyes, so he turned his attention to the rest of his breakfast without a word.

* * *

Watching the whole episode from the High table, Dumbledore saw that Luc's silence had effectively killed all conversation at the Slytherin table. He was still stunned at how quickly, and completely, Luc Malfoy had turned into the Potions Master's Whore, and he felt his heart bleed for the young boy, as it had bled for so many others, mostly Slytherins, before him.

But he knew, having learned from his fifty years experience as a teacher, that if he gave even the slightest indication that he pitied the boy, he would be shut out completely. Nothing alienated High Clan Slytherins more than pity - a lesson punched painfully home through his dealings with Severus Snape. And so, despite all the urgings of his heart, he knew that he had to leave Snape to take care of Luc; having all but raised the boy, he would know best how to reach him and keep him from the Dark.

* * *


	7. Lessons and Confrontations

Hello all and thank you for waiting. I'm very busy right now, and that explains why this is two weeks late, of course. It does! Um, nothing new here, my own theories about wand v wandless magic - oh, yes, a scene borrowed directly from one of my other heroes Darth Vader, and more explanation about the Luc-Snape relationship. 

Oh, and thanks to some advice from my reviewers, I've decided to generally stay with only one or two pov's per chapter, so if anyone is confused, it'll make it easier.

I don't own Harry Potter or his world - but if I did, well.no, that wouldn't be a good idea.probably better that I don't. Please don't sue me.

* * *

**Lessons and confrontations.**

**

* * *

**

When first looking at Professor Flitwick, it was hard to think that this...dwarf? Munchkin? Thing...was one of the premier duelists in England. He was rather like a hummingbird - light, with a fluttering voice, and his wand was like a darting beak, moving with precise exactness and speed. He made it look easy.

Willing, despite his skepticism, to give it a try, Luc picked up the wand Lucius had bought for him at Ollivander's. He had not touched it since first unpacking it - his master didn't approve of "foolish wand-waving", and he had never before held or used a wand in his life. He didn't need to - he had the ardeur.

Copying the correct hand movement along with the rest of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws in the room, he concentrated on letting his magic flow through the wand, and then letting it go when he spoke the spell. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he tapped into his magic, let it flow into the wand, concentrated on what he wanted to achieve, and then simultaneously swished, flicked and said "Wingardium Leviosa". The feather didn't move.

Trying again, he reached for more power, concentrated harder, and fiercely willed the feather to rise into the air, but it stayed stubbornly still. Next to him, Dirk's feather was dancing in the air, controlled by small motions of his wand. Concentrating on copying his movements, Luc tried again. It didn't work.

Very coolly, he reached out with his magic and tried to lift the feather without the wand. Without making any gestures, without saying a word, he concentrated on moving the feather, willing it to rise. He felt the magic flow through him and watched the feather lift off the desk, absently noting the scent of sandalwood suddenly permeating the air. That was the scent of the ardeur, and he hardly noticed it anymore.

Dirk set his feather down and whispered, amused, "You're cheating, Luc. You have to use the wand, remember?"

"I did," he whispered back. "It didn't work." He handed the wand to Dirk, who made a show of examining it, holding it up to his ear and shaking it. Then he gripped it, swished, flicked and intoned the spell, and then watched in some considerable amusement as the feather, once again, responded to his command. Had he not been so well trained, Luc would have scowled. As it was, he settled for a pointed look and a threatening glance at the offending feather.

Gripping the wand once more, there was an air of grim determination about him as he repeated the spell again. Reaching for his magic he once again channeled it through the wand, theoretically letting it flow through him, into the wand, and then out into the ether, where it would manipulate the physical world.

Flitwick came by as he failed once more. Watching his movements, gauging the movement of his magic, he said, "Let the magic flow into the wand, Mr. Malfoy. Let me see you try again." He complied, once again without success. With a curious "hmmm," Flitwick asked him if he could do it without a wand. Grey eyes assessed him, wondering how much the professor knew, before setting the wand down and lifting the feather solely with the ardeur.

"Hmmmm, very interesting," the professor murmured to himself, intrigued. "You've got the correct motions and intonation, and more than enough power - but it's simply not flowing through the wand." Suddenly his dark eyes flitted to the clock, which pointed to "End of lesson time" and he seemed to pull himself back from the land of intellectual fascination. Dismissing the class, he turned to Luc, who was putting away his wand with deliberate motions that spoke of finality. "Come see me at my office tonight, Mr. Malfoy, and we'll try to see why you can't channel magic through a wand." He smiled. "Run along now. You don't want to be late for Professor Snape's class." The twinkle in his eye seemed rather forced, telling Luc that Fltiwick, and probably all of the staff, were more than aware of his relationship with Snape. And they didn't approve.

With a nod, Luc picked up his books and walked out, joining Dirk in the corridor outside.

* * *

"So what's wrong? Did he say why you couldn't do it?" Dirk seemed rather amused at the thought that he could do something Luc couldn't. Of course, Dirk's father had started teaching him magic from the cradle, and he was more than proficient with any number of curses, hexes and nasty spells.

"He says the magic isn't moving through the wand." He jogged lightly down the stairs that led into the dungeon.

"What?" Dirk hurried after him.

"The magic is supposed to go from me through the wand..."

"Hey, Malfoy bastard, heard you had a little trouble in Charms. Could it be that you're so used to using sex magic that you can't use the real thing?" The taunting voice belonged to Caine de Sauvigny, his angelic blue eyes glinting with malicious amusement. Luc and Dirk looked to his companions. His Gryffindor cousin (was it Adam?) stood beside him, and slightly behind them, standing uncomfortably, were Dominic and Michel de Sauvigny.

Before he could answer, another voice spoke up. "Do I detect a little dissension in the ranks, Malfoy?" Brandon Avery, cool and amused as ever.

"Don't worry Avery, I'll take care of it." Luc answered dismissively, but there was real meaning behind his promise. He would make sure Dominic and Michel learned their place - and it was not, despite what they might like to think, beside the Golden Child of House de Sauvigny.

"Really, Malfoy? How? Are you going to sic Snape on them? Because that's the only way your threat will ever pack a punch."

Dirk winced, looked to Luc for his reaction, and felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he saw the other boy turn back, slowly, to face his half-brother. There was no perceptible change in his expression or his demeanour, but his eyes were feral. He held up his hand, palm forward, to show he was not using a wand, and then slowly, slowly clenched it into a fist. As his hand closed, Caine's eyes widened and he clutched wildly at his throat, gasping for air.

A cruel, cruel smile curled Luc's lips into an expression reminiscent of the Potions Master at his finest, and he finished closing his hand, causing Caine to fall to his knees. He spoke, voice velvet soft and purring, but with a vicious edge. "I find your lack of faith disturbing, de Sauvigny."

Suddenly the door to the Potions classroom swung open and Professor Snape stalked forth, slowly, surveying the scene with detached, cynical interest. Luc nonchalantly released his fist, allowing Caine to suck in his breath, wheezing desperately.

"What are you doing on the floor, Mr. de Sauvigny?"

Adam spoke up. "Malfoy was choking him, sir, with his magic."

"Is that so?" His gaze swung to Luc, who was standing completely at ease, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his robes.

"Yes, sir," Luc replied neutrally.

"Dare I ask why?" Luc knew that tone of voice, and it boded no good for any of them. Discretion, he decided, was the better part of valour.

"He was provoking me, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, which was never a good sign. Luc almost sighed when he turned those dangerous eyes back to Caine.

"10 points from Gryffindor for stirring up trouble, de Sauvigny." His voice almost dared anyone to react.

Adam took the bait. "But you can't do that!"

"And ten more for back chatting." Adam shut his mouth.

"As for you, Mr. Malfoy..." here he pinned Luc with an icy glare. "You will report to me after your appointment with Professor Flitwick, and we will discuss this.incident."

Luc nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Very well." His eyes swept the rest of the students gathered for the lesson. "What are you waiting for? We are ten minutes into the lesson, and we haven't even started. Stop gawking and get inside the classroom." And with that parting shot, he swept back into the room, and they all filed in after him for their very first Potions lesson.

* * *

Later that night, after an unproductive hour with Flitwick, who had simply told him that he had to concentrate on letting the magic flow through the wand and not his body, he knocked on Snape's door.

"Enter," came the smooth, silky voice. He pushed open the door, listened with amusement to the long, tortured groan of the hinges, and went in. Without being asked or invited, he sank into the chair in front of the desk, watching Snape write with a long, snow white quill. It made an almost imperceptible scratching noise in the hushed room.

"Well, well, Mr Malfoy. It hasn't even been one day yet, and you have already caused trouble." Snape spoke without lifting his head from his paperwork.

Luc didn't bother protesting. "It was a matter of face, sir."

Snape's head came up at that, and he fixed Luc with a cool, analytical gaze.

"One thing you will have to learn, Mr Malfoy, is that in this school, all students, whether High Clan, canaille or even muggle born, are of equal status. Face, High Clan ways - they are worth nothing here. You may protest this, refuse to abide by the rules and make life very tiresome for yourself, or you may take advantage of the opportunity it presents. Play the pro-Gryffindor game. These seven years will be the only time in your life when you face de Sauvigny on an equal basis. Now is the time to show you can rule the House."

He smiled thinly, changing from Professor to protector, mentor. "I have no doubt that you are more than capable, Lucien. You are, after all, a Malfoy - deception and hypocrisy should come as naturally as breathing."

Luc's lips curled slightly, in faint amusement. "Thank you, sir."

Snape nodded, his eyes turning back to his book in dismissal. As Luc stood up to go, the voice came after him. "Oh, and one more thing, Malfoy?"

Luc, halfway to the door, paused and turned.

"You do realize that if you ever require punishment, for appearance's sake, as your 'protector'," he gave the word a bitter emphasis, "I will have to be the one to administer it?"

His face blank, impassive, Luc nodded. Oh, yes he knew. Appearances needed to be kept. And now, at the height of the Dark Lord's reign, it was more important than ever that the spy in his ranks never be found out.

_Look the flower, but be the serpent under't._

"Yes, sir," he said, and walked out.

* * *

A/N so what did you think? I might be a while posting more chapters - it's coming up on midsemester now, and I have assessment nearly every week. But I'll try to make time to write, in between all my other stuff.

And yes, the line about the serpent and the flower is from Shakespeare's Macbeth - but you all knew that, of course.

Read and Review, please!


	8. Disowned and Repudiated

Okay, some flashbacks in this chapter, nothing graphic, just language, and a big fight scene - here is the big confrontation between Luc and Caine. Some angst as I make Luc suffer more. (I'm so cruel - but I can just see those big grey eyes..) 

And sorry if I'm making Caine slightly 1-dimensional. I need him to be that way so Luc hates him, because that'll be important later on (I hope)

Disclaimer - I don't own the world or the characters, I just play with them a little and return them in slightly battered condition.

* * *

**Disowned and repudiated**

* * *

Time passed, and Luc and his fellow first years soon settled into Hogwarts and its routines. Luc and Dirk grew closer together - that is, they learned to work together reasonably well, and had gotten to the point where they were almost completely relaxed around the other. Complete relaxation would be more than foolish.

Rayden had almost become an unofficial third - he still held back slightly, but since Shan had learned of Luc's sardonic, wry sense of humour, he had gravitated closer to the Malfoy and dragged Rayden with him. Brandon, as usual, stood in corners and watched everything, missing nothing with those cool, cynical eyes, laughing at them all.

And the two de Sauvigny cousins had, after their public acknowledgement, at least made the effort to learn something of the Slytherin way. Luc suspected they would always think like Gryffindors first, but he liked to think they had at least learned something under his and the others' tutelage.

He had taken Snape's advice to heart - he played Hogwarts' game - cooperating with the teachers, keeping as much within the rules as he could, but when it came to giving others respect - he had found, in his time at Hogwarts, that prejudice was rife throughout the whole school, and not just in Slytherin.

The Gryffindors hated the Slytherins, the Hufflepuffs feared them and the Ravenclaws reserved judgement but watched them warily. In return, the Slytherins hated Gryffindors, held Hufflepuffs in contempt and viewed the Ravenclaws with half-wary tolerance. Luc saw Slytherin as a dangerous predator with its back to the wall, not afraid but ready for anything, eyes watching every move the other three made, because an attack could come at any moment.

And more often than not, the move came from the Gryffindors. What they lacked in ruthlessness and cunning, they made up for with sheer bravado and recklessness - they saw the world in shades of pure black and white, with no shades of grey or any appreciation of how lines and limits could blur and change with circumstance. Sometimes Luc envied them their certainty, their innocence. The strength and durability of their faith in Justice and Goodness was..almost admirable.

The confrontations with Caine and his friends continued, with Luc restrained from serious retaliation by the knowledge that Snape would use the Cruciatus on him if he were caught. He wasn't afraid of the pain, he could take it without flinching, without a single sign of pain, but he didn't want to cause Snape the pain of having to inflict it on him.

Without the empathic bond of the ardeur turning the other person's pain into pleasure, unless you were a sadist or truly hated the other, there was no amusement in casting the Cruciatus. Unlike Luc, Snape was neither a Malfoy nor a sadist, and so tried to employ it as little as possible. But appearances needed to be kept.

* * *

And then one day, Caine went too far. Coming back from his daily tutelage with Flitwick, who had taken a personal interest in his problem, he had been concentrating on mentally allowing power to channel through the wand, and into the atmosphere. Lost in his own world, trying to change a habit ingrained into him since the age of three, he had been focusing inward rather than outward, and had walked unawares into a corridor filled with Gryffindors, none of whom had been pleased with his appearance.

Caine had walked out of the crowd, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, and completed the circle that had surrounded him. There was no way out, unless he fought his way through ten Gryffindors. Sighing mentally, he drew himself up and put on his most arrogant face.

"What do you want, brother dear?" He had taken to calling Caine brother, both because it enraged him and because it reminded people of their blood tie, and his connection to the House and the tai-pan.

"What do I want, 'brother'?" Caine sneered, a fine piece of disdain worthy of Professor Snape himself. "Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if you've learned to use your wand yet?" He smiled angelically. "No? Then what have you been using in class to do the work? All that sex magic is powered by lust, Malfoy. Who has been fucking you to give you enough power to get through the day?" This was a vicious attack even for him. Luc drew in a deep breath and calmed himself down, pushing away the voices of his Death Eater tormentors in his mind and memories.

_...the sweet, cinnamon taste of dranath lay thick on his tongue, and he could feel it running through his body like blood, feel the ardeur rising without his control, twisting against him until it amplified every touch, every sensation, until the slightest touch was agony. His heartbeat was racing in his ears, and he knew that this was only the beginning...oh, Lady, Lady, Lady...this was his fault, he couldn't control his sexuality, his need for sex and that was why he had to be punished..._

Caine continued. "Of course, had it been anyone but you, Snape would have been out on his own for molesting a student - but I guess you're just not important enough, Malfoy bastard."

_"...this is what happens to little boys who put themselves forward, Malfoy bastard...you're nothing but a whore, do you hear? Worthless whore, what good is it to cry out? No one is going to save you, because no one cares about you, you're not important, you're not worth anything to anyone..."_

"...you're nothing and no one." Caine's voice merged with that of his memories - he wasn't sure whose it was, it might have been Voldemort's, and it might even have been Lucius'. But still caught in the throes of his flashback, he could only hear the other voice, could only see the blackness of the Manor's dungeons and the looming form of his tormentor. With a feral snarl he opened his silver, burning eyes, exposing the depths of his pain and rage and fear, and saw not his half-brother and other first year students, but cloaked and hooded Death Eaters...the students nearest to him who could see his eyes stepped back suddenly, and he snapped.

He didn't need a wand - the power was within him, readily accessible, and it was raging through him with the force of his emotions. Going straight for Caine, he was too far gone to even cast a spell, he simply clenched his fist and swung straight for him, smashing his fist into Caine's stomach, then when he doubled up into his jaw. Fueled by rage and fear and desperation, his small, lithe form was more than strong enough to overwhelm Caine's taller, heavier build.

Taken aback, Caine nevertheless fought back, getting in a few hits himself, but he was largely untrained in physical combat - Luc, who had grown up with assassins and killers, had learned all the dirty tricks and street fighting techniques in the book, and didn't hesitate to use them. Straddling Caine's body and driving his fist repeatedly into his face, he didn't feel the hands that clutched at him, trying to pry him off, didn't hear the shouting or the teacher's orders. All he felt was a hot rush of hate and satisfaction, and then strong, wiry arms pulled him off the other boy and restrained him from lashing out at anyone else.

Shaking his head, trying repeatedly to concentrate, he could finally feel reality return to him slowly, and with it the knowledge that he had gone far over the line of what Dumbledore thought acceptable school behaviour. What if he was expelled? He couldn't go back to the Manor, to Voldemort, to the Death Eaters and the constant danger; he'd kill himself first. His life was worth nothing at the Manor without Snape's protection; he'd be better off dead...

* * *

Albus Dumbledore watched the procession file into his office. Severus Snape, holding onto Luc Malfoy's arm as if he was restraining him, but from the dazed look in the boy's eyes, Snape was the only thing actually holding him up. Minerva McGonogall, standing fiercely beside Caine de Sauvigny, separating him from Luc with her body. She was glaring fiercely at Snape and Luc, and alternately shooting her young charge worried looks. Poppy Pomfrey hovered solicitously over both boys, trying to be unobtrusive but determined to treat their wounds all the same.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "Perhaps if the two boys could sit down, so Madame Pomfrey could treat them?"

The two heads of Houses assisted their respective charges to the seats before the Headmaster's desk, then stood back and let Poppy dab at their wounds. When she was finished she left, giving him a pointed glance, clearly an order not to be too long and to send them both to the infirmary when he had finished.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "Precisely what was going on, here?" Caine looked sulky and more than a little shook up, but Luc...Luc seemed, despite his perfect composure, to be more than a little - what was the word these days? Out of it. His eyes were remote, and more than a little dead. It seemed he was suffering from more than a few bruised ribs.

Caine, ever bold and reckless, spoke up first. "Headmaster, he attacked me. He just walked into the corridor, asked what I wanted, and then for no reason, he punched me."

Dumbledore looked to Luc. "Mr Malfoy?" Those ancient eyes turned towards him, weighing, judging, and then his lashes slowly covered them as he looked away, refusing to answer.

"Very well," he said. "A week's detention for you both, and fifty points each from your Houses. And don't let me catch you fighting again." He stood up, clearly ready to dismiss them, when the door to his office flew open with a bang, and in came Anne de Sauvigny and her husband Aethan, the tai- pan of the House.

All eyes in the office were on them, ranging from Snape's cold glare to Caine's stunned amazement, to Luc's wary curiosity.

"What have you done to my son?" hissed Anne furiously.

Dumbledore could have been forgiven for his hesitation then, wondering which son she was talking about. But its results were unfortunate, for in the silence she turned her gaze to Luc, unleashing the full force of her maternal fury on him.

"You!" she hissed dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You have done this to my son. You Slytherin snake! You worthless bastard, I should have drowned you at birth and done the world a favour, rather than let you grow up and pollute the world with your lurid sexual filth...!" Anne was a true High Clan woman - she managed to spit out all this venom without raising her voice, without losing her composure. And somehow that made it all the worse.

Stunned by the attack, no one in the office reacted before she stepped forward and viciously backhanded her eldest son, the jeweled ring on her finger splitting his lip and cutting a furrow across his white face, drawing crimson blood. "You are nothing, bastard whore. Nothing. Do not attempt to enter the House - you are not of my blood, not of my body. You are nothing."

She turned and walked off. Her husband Aethan made a helpless gesture almost absently, his eyes on his son, and then on his wife's other child. Luc's eyes had lost their deadness, and were glittering, feral silver - burning with everything that didn't show on that mask like face. Blood trickling down his chin, he spoke for the first time since the fight.

"My name is Lucien," he said softly, but with great purpose. Aethan looked away almost guiltily, a mother's disownment meant that the child no longer existed to the House. A mother's complete and utter rejection and repudiation meant that the child no longer existed at all. It was the de Sauvigny way - the High Clan way.

"My name is Luc," he repeated again, in a stronger voice. "Look at me." Hypnotic, compelling tones. "Look at me. I am Lucien Brandon Malfoy. I exist, I live, and I breathe..." Aethan turned and walked out, but Luc shouted after him, when shouting was anathema to the High Clan.

_"LOOK AT ME!_"

But the footsteps didn't pause on the stairwell, and neither of them returned to the office. No one looked at Luc, then, and only Dumbledore saw the hopelessness and despair in his eyes slowly gather, intensify, then disappear completely, replaced by a diamond bright, unbreakable determination and, even more disturbing, a cold, cold hatred of the most dangerous type. Swinging his gaze back to his teachers, it rested on Caine, watching with amusement as he shouted out to unsympathetic backs. And the hatred extended to include him, as well.

Pulling himself up, energized by his new purpose and hatred, Luc gathered his composure around himself like a cloak, nodded to Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall, and then walked off, back straight and head high, to the infirmary.

* * *


	9. Taking Flight

Thank you to all the wonderful people who reviewed this (grins foolishly and hugs herself) you make everything worthwhile. Especially the people who tell me they love my story and I'm the greatest author they've ever read...(right, hmmm) Ok, more Snape in this, and our hero finally makes his stand. 

I don't own anything you recognize! It's all JKR's, I swear. Don't sue me, I'm a struggling uni student - you'd get nothing out of me.

* * *

**Part 9 - Taking flight.**

* * *

Snape caught up with Luc after dinner, in the Slytherin Common Room. He'd been sitting alone on his usual stool near the fire, lost in the flames, not acknowledging the rest of his housemates. After returning from the infirmary with the news that he'd lost fifty points, his fellow students had melted away, not willing to risk being included in Snape's wrath. Their head of House tended to be rather disappointed with anyone who lost unnecessary points, and he disciplined the unfortunate person personally.

Most of the time he didn't go too far, because the hapless student more often than not had a family who would object to unnecessary punishment, but in Luc's case - rumour was that Lucius took no responsibility for his younger brother, and that at Hogwarts, he was entirely under the Potions Master's authority. And Snape was furious - cold, cold eyes burning, and his movements even more silent and controlled than ever.

As Rayden watched from his vantage across the room - he liked Luc, but not enough that he'd interfere with what was inevitably coming - he saw Snape enter the room, gliding soundlessly across the floor, looming like a spectre with his shadow thrown far behind him by the fire. Luc stood up as he came near, then, face frozen, he followed him out of the room and through the door leading to Snape's private quarters.

The rest of House Slytherin, who had, all two hundred of them, gathered to watch the scene, let out a collective breath of relief that the icy rage in Snape's eyes had not been directed at them.

All except for Michel and Dominic de Sauvigny, who had been watching everything in some confusion.

"What just happened?" asked Dominic - green eyes wary, half-understanding but hoping he hadn't read the scene right.

Michel raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "I think we just saw Luc walk into the lion's den."

Rayden blinked - he hadn't heard that reference before, but he let it pass. Dirk caught his eye and mouthed "Christian bible story", and Rayden flicked a hand in dismissal.

Brandon chipped in. "That was the natural consequence of the fight with de Sauvigny. He's paying for that piece of reckless stupidity."

Dominic turned to him. "But Caine insulted him. He had to defend his honour."

Brandon snorted. "He's a bastard living under Snape's protection - he doesn't have any honour. He should have just walked away."

"Wouldn't that have been cowardly?"

Shan smiled wryly, putting an almost patronising hand on his shoulder. Dominic resisted the urge to throw it off - he was only baiting him. "Listen to me, de Sauvigny." His voice lowered, became harder somehow. "Slytherins do not need to care about what other people say and think." He paused, and his tone became razor thin. "Slytherins with no real face or standing can't afford to care."

"So he should have just let Caine insult him like that - just ignored it and walked off."

"If he thought he could gain something - face, power, influence - through fighting with de Sauvigny, then of course it would have been a good choice. Especially if he made sure he came out on top."

"That's where Luc went wrong," Dirk mused. "There was no possible gain in fighting with de Sauvigny. He completely lost control - and he's paying for it now."

"Yes, a thorough talking to from Snape would be enough to frighten anybody into obedience," said Dominic wryly, and then paused as his teachers exchanged looks.

"What?"

Rayden's sharp green eyes met his, and they were cold, hard and pitiless. There was no sign of any mercy or concern in them - only a frightening calculation that divided people up into dominant and submissive, predator and prey. This was the look he saw all too often in the eyes of Slytherin students - especially the ones whose families were suspected of involvement with You-Know-Who.

Raised amongst deceit, treachery and intrigue, they respected nothing but strength, bowed to no one but the Dark Lord, and trusted absolutely no one.

This was what it was to be Slytherin - this pitiless truth that the world didn't care whether you lived or died, that good deeds were not automatically rewarded, and that the only difference between predator and prey was how good you were at backing up your threats. Honour was a fool's game and chivalry a romantic fantasy - the only truth was that you, and the strength of your magic and will, were the only things that ever mattered.

Predator and prey - Luc had always seemed to be a predator, but he was eleven years old, and no matter how strong his magic, he was still only a child...oh God, how had he survived all those years?

"A talking to, de Sauvigny?" Rayden's voice was soft, inflexible - it rang in Dominic's ears as he slowly realized what they hadn't been saying, what everyone in Slytherin had known but hadn't acknowledged. "I think it will be a bit more...hands on than that."

All the blood drained from his face, and he could vaguely hear Michel protest. "He can't! He's our head of House, it's not allowed!"

Every instinct he possessed rebelled against the truth - bought up in a loving family, where children were precious and were surrounded by love and light and Gryffindoric ideals, it had seemed that nothing bad could ever touch them. Before coming to Hogwarts he had never dreamed that guardians could be anything but loving and affectionate - but Luc had shattered all his illusions, forced him to confront the truth and the knowledge that the world was not a safe place, and that he, too, was vulnerable.

Instinctively, Dominic agreed with Michel, but deep down inside, in the cool pragmatic part of him that had earned him a spot in Slytherin, he knew that Rayden was right. It shouldn't be allowed - it wasn't right, it wasn't fair...but it was the only way that a young, beautiful child could have survived in Malfoy Manor. And the end always justified the means. Dominic felt his innocence begin to shatter, and a little bit of his childhood died with it.

* * *

Inside Snape's office, two figures faced each other across an antique mahogany desk - the authority figure standing behind it, tall and confident, his shadow thrown across the room by the flickering fire behind him. The other, the penitent, stood in front of him, head down and as still as he could.

"And just what did you hope to achieve with that foolish stunt today, Malfoy?" Professor Snape's voice lashed viciously across the air, the venom stinging, and the scorn thick enough to touch. Luc had to restrain himself from flinching.

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know." He prowled around the edge of the desk, voice soft, hypnotic and vicious. "You physically attack another student, one taller and heavier than you, without first making sure that you are victorious." Luc's eyes closed slowly.

"You attack a student whose parents are influential enough, and protective enough, that they could cause serious trouble for you both here and at home." The young boy drew in a long, calming breath and let it out just as slowly.

"You dive headfirst into a situation where the odds are completely against you, where the potential losses are far greater than fifty house points, and you don't know what you hoped to get out of it?" Luc actually flinched.

Snape closed his eyes and sat down heavily in his winged chair.

"Why?" was all he asked.

Stillness, and reflective silence. "He pushed me too far," was the final answer. Luc somehow drew himself up straighter, until he was standing with more pride, more...dignity than he ever had before.

It seemed he was trying to assert himself.

"Don't be foolish," Snape snarled, secretly pleased with the boy's resolution. "You have no standing to enforce limits and threats, Luc. Remember who and what you are."

For the first time, Luc deliberately sought eye contact with him - the cool, unreadable grey eyes had more than survival and determination in them now, they had pride. "I know who and what I am," he declared in soft, iron hard tones. "I am Lucien Brandon Malfoy, and I am no man's whore."

Snape held his eyes, and rose slowly, deliberately to his full great height. His robes settled around him like black shadows, and with the fire behind him he was a being of darkness and death. Luc, standing tall before this, didn't even blink.

"Back down." It was an order and a threat rolled into one, almost hissed in the waiting, tense silence.

Luc refused to budge. "No."

The dark shadow of the Potions Master, the Dark Lord's chief inquisitor, paused silently, for half a second after this unequivocal defiance, stretching the tension unbearably. And then he made a flicking gesture, and murmured _"crucio"_ into the roaring silence.

Luc didn't react.

Not by one little clue did he indicate that he was under any pain at all, or if indeed he ever felt the curse. There was nothing, only the complete frozen blankness and the hot flame of pride.

Again. _"Crucio."_

Nothing.

He turned up the intensity of the curse, turned it up far too high for the tolerance levels of an eleven-year-old boy.

"Scream," he ordered. "Just once, and then they will be satisfied outside. It will be enough." It was the pragmatic, sensible thing to do. Despite his complete lack of reaction, or perhaps because of it, Snape knew that Luc was in pain. All he had to do was scream once, choose expediency over honour, and the pain would stop.

Those silver eyes burned, the strength of will frightening, even in an eleven-year-old body. "Never."

No matter how much pain he was in, Luc would show no reaction. He never would again.

* * *

Dominic raised his head as he felt a vibration in the air - a subliminal humming that registered as...pressure in his ears, a current that ran along his bones and through his teeth.

"What's that?" he asked, only half wary - Hogwarts had many secrets, and this might be one of them. But it felt...wrong.

Dirk answered, his voice colourless. "The Cruciatus."

Dominic was getting better at this - he didn't think he even blinked. Keeping his face slightly bored - and it took more effort than he thought it would - he only raised an eyebrow and asked, "How long is it going to last?"

"Until he screams," came the laconic reply.

He sighed in relief. "That's all right, then, isn't it? He just screams, and it's over and done with." He almost convinced himself it was true.

Michel shook his head. "He won't scream."

All five of them - Rayden, Dirk, Brandon, Shan and Dominic himself, who believed he should have known better - turned their attention to him, taken aback at this new certainty. It seemed he had a backbone, after all.

Michel smiled ruefully.

"You think I am naïve," he murmured. "And perhaps I am, at that. But that doesn't mean I can't see, or that I don't understand." He held his hands out to the fireplace, not looking at any of their faces.

"Do you know what Luc wanted out of that fight?" He looked up from his hands at this, his blue eyes serious. "Acknowledgement."

No one said anything, but they all looked thoughtful. Michel went on.

"He wanted to separate himself from the Potion Master's Whore - to gain status as something more than a puppet or a pet - to gain face that was more than bravado, bluff and illusion. And that's why he won't scream."

"Because the Whore would?" Shan asked the obvious question.

"Yes. And because the Malfoy wouldn't."

Brandon smiled mirthlessly. "And whatever else he is, he is a Malfoy. Indisputably, undeniably - he is Malfoy."

* * *

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, what have you gained from this?" Snape had eventually given up any hope that common sense and survival instinct would persuade Luc to back down. There was a new sense of pride and...personal confidence in the boy now - his body language told Snape that he had chosen to come out of his shell, and that his time as a meek shadow was at an end.

Part of him was fiercely proud that Luc had finally, at Hogwarts at least, come into his own - the other part worried that Voldemort would take it as a challenge and break him more thoroughly than he had done before.

Grim Slytherin pragmatism knew that Luc should play the game and bend his knee until he was strong enough to stand up to all threats or until the Dark Lord was defeated - whichever came first - but the fierce Slytherin, High Clan pride, (just as much a part of him as the pragmatism) burned to see him finally stand up for himself.

There were times when he thought the only difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin was how far the Slytherins would go to achieve their ends.

Luc answered him.

"Acknowledgement, sir, as a Malfoy. As a player in my own right, and not as a puppet."

"And your mother's public disownment was part of your plan too?"

"No, sir, but it is better to be a Malfoy, even a bastard Malfoy, than it is to be an unacknowledged bastard son of the de Sauvigny."

"And how are you going to become tai-pan if you are not of the House?"

Luc's eyes burned. "You'll see, sir. One day the whole world will see."

* * *


	10. Bad News and a Choice

Ok, I know I said I had exams, and I do, and I'm doing this when I should be studying, even though I should know better than that. But the muse snuck up and tapped me on the shoulder last night. This is a short chapter to tide you over until later, sort of like an interlude while I shift gears and redirect the story. Note - the more I read this, the more I realize that one of the biggest influences on this story was Demeter's "Sinners of an Unknown Degree" - reading that again last night, it was almost uncanny. Perhaps I should have said this before (like in the first chapter) but here it is now. Go read Demeter's story if you haven't already. 

JK Rowling owns Harry Potter - I'm just borrowing it for a while. See if you can spot the line from Gladiator.

* * *

**Bad News and a Choice**

* * *

The Christmas holidays came, and Luc, with his brother's permission, stayed at Hogwarts instead of going home. Indeed, most of the students were staying over the holidays - Lord Voldemort had increased the intensity of his attacks to the point where owls bought news of new deaths every morning. Society was under siege, and most parents obviously thought the children were safer at Hogwarts. As for the children of Death Eaters - well, they were staying because their guardians would be out all night on the Dark Lord's service, and because to go home when others stayed would be far too suspicious.

The other three Houses, drawn together by their shared losses, started to actively ostracise the Slytherins, publicly accusing them of being Death Eaters, and of spying for their parents and the Dark Lord, and the harried teachers, under pressure themselves, did nothing to stop it, merely encouraging the other students to have faith in the Ministry and the Headmaster.

Indeed, there was a sense, even from the teachers, that the Slytherins were to be shunned and feared; Dominic and Michel, neither of whom had any relation to Voldemort and his servants, found themselves lumped in with the rest of their House - even their cousins in Gryffindor, children whom they had grown up with, fought and laughed and played with, had rejected them utterly. Now that not even Caine could afford to befriend them, publicly or not, they no longer had the option of separating themselves from the other first year Slytherins, and found themselves drawn further into the world of the High Clan, into the murky half world of Slytherin, and Death Eater politics.

On Christmas morning, waking to a thick coating of snow and perfect crisp weather, the two de Sauvigny, untroubled by their ostracism, were in a jubilant mood as they tore open their presents. Watched with a tolerant eye by the others, they forgot about Slytherin impassivity and reacted like the children they were.

Dirk, since his mother's death, had loved and hero-worshipped his father (but would have been mortified by the very thought of showing it), and had received a thick, extravagant coat and a book of advanced Dark Arts curses, hexes and spells - he had never, for a moment, ever had cause to doubt his father's affection for him.

Rayden didn't have any family - his parents were dead and his brother was in Azkaban, but he had received a small parcel from his aunt, Shan's mother. Mr. Andahni, a dedicated Death Eater, didn't believe in coddling children, so his mother, who had been a Ravenclaw, sent discreet gifts for her son and his cousin behind her husband's back.

Brandon's father was a vicious tyrant whom everybody, but especially his son, hated - he had never received a single jot of affection from his father, and so had not been surprised at all to find no presents waiting for him.

Rayden and Brandon, deep in their innermost hearts, knew that they would have killed to have a father like Dirk's.

And Luc, who had a mother, but no father, an indifferent brother and an ambiguous mentor, received a letter from his brother, a curt nod from his mentor, and nothing from his mother, who had so publicly disowned him some time ago.

But they were all three of them used to it, the indifference, or the abuse - it was not deprivation when none of them had ever had anything to be deprived of in the first place. They had life, they had money, they were High Clan - why did they need affection, or love, or presents?

* * *

Watching Luc read his brother's letter, Dirk saw him pale, and then go absolutely still. Curious, because it was rare for him to show such an obvious reaction, he wondered what news the letter held that could cause such a lapse.

Reading through his own letter from his father, skimming through the sometimes ironic commentary, he came to a piece of very interesting news.

_"...And I have heard that congratulations are in order for Narcissa Malfoy..." the letter ran. "...They have been married for nearly four years, now, so I'm sure Malfoy is quite relieved...She believes she is due sometime in the summer..."_

Putting the letter down, he met Luc's eyes and tilted his head towards the door. Following the other boy out into the common room, he asked, quite bluntly, "What are you going to do?" Dirk was not in the mood for subtlety.

Luc looked at him as if considering a flippant remark, but then sighed. "What can I do?"

"You have to do something. A legitimate heir will kill any hope you'll ever have of becoming Clan Lord - and don't tell me that you've never thought of it."

"It will also kill any hope I have of becoming more than expendable."

Dirk blinked. "Damn. I didn't think of that."

Luc laughed. "Dirk, you're so safe with your father that you base all your speculations on the thought that you can't be...removed. And that is a mistake. I live with that thought everyday, I assure you, and while before I had a slight chance of living past my majority, now my life is worth less than nothing."

"Unless you can get rid of the child."

"Unless I can get rid of the child. But not while Narcissa is pregnant, it's too easy to prove that way."

"So you'll have to hang on until summer."

"Hmm...yes I will. It will no doubt prove interesting."

Dirk hesitated. "Luc...have you ever thought about becoming a Death Eater?"

Luc opened his mouth instinctively, but then shut it. "Yes. But not while I still have a choice."

"It's the best way - you'll have more status than Snape's pet - oh, I know you've got that here, but standing among the children doesn't mean a thing to the Death Eaters. And no one will be able to openly get rid of you."

"I know that. I also know that if I take the Dark Mark, I put myself beyond the pale to the rest of society."

"Who cares about the rest of society?"

"The tai-pan does."

"Shit, Luc, you've been disowned publicly. There's no way you're going to be tai-pan now."

"I'll find a way, Dirk. And when I do, it'll be a real help if I'm not outed as a Death Eater. Society is so Gryffindor-centric that the only way a Slytherin can survive in and as a vital, essential part of it is if I play the game."

"We're High Clan, Luc. We're not part of mainstream society, we are apart from it. You don't need to play the game to gain power."

"The House is an essential part of mainstream society, as you put it. The tai-pan cannot afford to stand apart from it." He paused. "And besides, I don't just want power. I want acceptance. I want to be accepted by mainstream society, to become a respected, familiar and integral part of our Gryffindor-centric world." He grinned fiercely. "And then I want to throw that in the faces of everyone who has ever shunned me."

He met Dirk's eyes firmly. "And I cannot do that as a Death Eater."

Dirk returned the gaze just as firmly. "It may come to the point where you no longer have a choice."

Luc only smiled. "I know that." His smile tipped into a rakish grin. "But not yet. Not yet."

* * *


	11. Introspection

A/N - Phew! I think this chapter took control of me and ran away! I couldn't stop it; it just kept going and going. As the title says, it's mainly introspection. As this story progresses, I find it's becoming more of an exploration of Slytherin and my version of their politics, and the plot is taking second place. But my muse will probably let me put plot in the next chapter, which will probably be out after Friday. 

Harry Potter belongs to someone far more worthy than I. I wouldn't dare to presume.

* * *

**CHAPTER 11 - INTROSPECTION**

* * *

The school year crept to a close - the final exams approached, came around, and were passed, and summer came to Hogwarts after a long, haunted winter and a harsh spring. Now that they had nothing to study or prepare for, the lessons (except for Snape's) became informal discussion groups, and the students became restless and fractious in anticipation of the holidays. The whole school seemed to slow down.

Luc spent most of his free time lazing in the sun, luxuriating with feline abandon in the warmth and glow of the afternoon sun, delighting in the feeling of timelessness, of leisure, that was the best part of summer.

In Wales, in the mountains of Gwynedd where Brandon Malfoy had taken his home by the sword, and secured it through his own blood, toil and magic, the summer sun shone with a special radiance that he had never seen anywhere else. The summer breezes, cooled by the snow on the highest mountains, were balmy, and the nights were still, and magical. Isolated from the outside world by the Veil, the first Lord Malfoy's last enchantment, a barrier separating the Malfoy land from the world Outside, the sun shone brighter and the grass was greener, sweeter and richer. Hogwarts was magical, enchanting and unique - but his heart and soul belonged to the land Beyond the Veil.

Luc hated the thought of going home. He had not returned since he had first come to Hogwarts - preferring to stay for the shorter holidays, but now it was not possible to avoid returning, and he could not stay with Professor Snape. The Dark Lord had personally requested that Luc attend him during these holidays. He would be twelve years old, in June, on the Midsummer Solstice - and if the Dark Lord had his way, he would be inducted into the Death Eaters. And then he would never be free.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore watched as the dark-haired boy lazed in the sun. He found it curious that, for all his dignity and composure, Luc could still sprawl inelegantly on the ground and fall asleep careless of who might be watching. It gave him hope - perhaps there was some innocence and childhood left somewhere within those ancient eyes.

A velvet voice spoke quietly from behind him. "He feels safe, here."

Dumbledore didn't turn around - he had seen Snape's reflection in the window. "That's a start, at least." He turned his head to look into his Potions Master's black, pitiless eyes. There would be no comforting platitudes or assurances from him. "Do you think it will be enough?"

The black eyes shifted to the child sleeping on the grass. "I don't know." Truth. Nothing but stark, cold truth. "He is eleven years old, beautiful, and not nearly strong enough to survive on his own. He's illegitimate, and with his new nephew's birth eliminating him from the line of succession, he is now expendable. The surest route to survival is, quite frankly, through the Dark Mark."

He had already known this, but it still hurt. Albus had tried once, long ago, to isolate himself and his heart from his students, tried to stay detached and not take it personally when he saw shadows in their eyes. But he had failed, and it hurt, it had hurt enormously when students he had come to love turned away from the light and embraced darkness, turned their backs on society, rejected his offers of acceptance and assistance, and became something evil.

It had hurt so much that it became easier to care for the loyal Hufflepuffs, the wise and intelligent Ravenclaws and the golden, courageous Gryffindors, who were far less likely to cause him such pain, than it did to open his heart to the Slytherins, who were wary, cynical and jaded, who watched him with suspicious eyes and shied away at even the merest hint of affection. They broke his heart.

And out of all the children he had lost, only one had ever come back.

"Does he want to be a Death Eater?" Nothing in the world could stop someone doing something their heart was set on, but pragmatism and fear for one's life could be assuaged.

"No. But he fears he has no other choice."

"There is always another choice." As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed himself. Snape was no child to be comforted by such trite nonsense. Nor was he naïve enough to believe it.

"If he runs or hides, the Dark Lord will send me to find him, hunt him down, and kill him. If he refuses, his life is worth less than nothing. That leaves taking the Mark, or suicide - and suicide is a coward's way out."

"I would have thought it took courage to end it that way, on one's own terms."

Snape snorted. "It takes more courage to live than it does to die. 'Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.' All suicide achieves is to leave a mess for the living to clean up."

Dumbledore sighed. "You cannot say that you didn't find him?"

"Then Voldemort would take it as proof of my disloyalty, and the whisperers in his ears would use it to pull me down. My life would be forfeit, eventually."

The Headmaster closed his eyes, and the sunlight seemed to dim momentarily, the wind became chill. It was always heartbreaking to come up against hard reality. "Then there is no other way?"

Snape shook his head. "Not that I can see."

"At least we will not have to worry about it for some years, at least, if this reign of terror should manage to last that long."

The other man made an involuntary, swiftly cut off gesture, and then brought himself under control again almost immediately.

Dumbledore tensed. "What is it?"

Snape would not look at him. The velvet voice was slightly hoarse, but he was rigidly impassive. "The Dark Lord has stepped up his campaign of terror, and has lowered his minimum entry age requirements." He raised his eyes to Dumbledore's, and they were filled with turmoil and...pain. "Luc turns twelve at Midsummer."

Dumbledore lowered his suddenly aching, old body into his chair, his mind numb. Looking away from Snape's no longer impassive eyes, he brought his hands up and covered his face with them, shutting out the rest of the world; veiling the agony he'd sworn he'd never go through again.

He didn't look up when Snape left.

* * *

At the Leaving Feast, the Great Hall was filled with light and sound, the red and gold banners marching the length of the room proudly declaimed another Gryffindor victory; good had triumphed over evil Slytherin, at Hogwarts at least.

The Slytherin table was subdued, the students' minds on the holidays and what they would bring - for the elder students, perhaps their first Death Eater raids, or their first time to be entrusted by the Dark Lord with real tasks. For the younger years, those less than sixteen who had previously been too young to be inducted, they worried about the upcoming Revel at Midsummer, held Beyond the Veil at Malfoy Manor, where they would make obeisance to their Lord formally for the first time, and would receive the Dark Mark and entry into the Death Eaters.

Some were looking forward to it, to serving the Dark Lord and his cause, or to simply having carte blanche to kill Muggles, half-bloods, mud-bloods and anyone who opposed them and their Lord. Some wished to join and impress their families, or simply to follow in their footsteps.

Others, like Rayden, Shan and Brandon, who had no real wish to become Death Eaters, were thinking of ways to avoid the Mark - but they could afford to, because they had status. They had family they could run to, and shelter with; family the Death Eaters would be reluctant to challenge.

There were some like Luc, who had no choice but to join, if they wanted to survive, and the very few, including Dominic and Michel, who had no such worries, and who could go home to a family not entangled in Voldemort's web. The two de Sauvigny cousins, if they had not been different before, were certainly set apart from their housemates by their unconcern. Altogether, this made for a very quiet house, on the night when all the other students were celebrating freely and joyfully.

Michel looked around the table at his housemates. Most of them were lost in their own thoughts, toying with their food and making no attempt to talk to their neighbours beyond what was necessary.

He watched Luc, watched him ignore his food and shut the rest of the table out, concentrating on something in his goblet of pumpkin juice that only he could see. He had been slightly abstracted every now and then ever since Christmas, since he had heard that his sister-in-law was pregnant.

He didn't show anything, any obvious concern, but to Michel, who had always been observant and able to see a little of what others were thinking, he had been distracted. And now that he had spent a year in Slytherin, he could even analyse why Luc was worried. There were times when his ability to see into people could be onerous.

He had come to know Luc quite well this year, and he knew that beyond the reserve lay a vital intelligence and a strong sense of personal honour. For all he could argue that it was for intellectual reasons, for pragmatism, Luc had taken Michel and Dominic under his wing because they were blood of his blood, and to let them sink when he could do something about it would be against all the laws of blood and family. Even when Anne rejected him, he had not taken his rage and humiliation out on them - he had given them a base, at least, from which they could build their standing in the Serpent House.

And this could be accredited to ambition - forging alliances, binding children of influential members of the House to his cause, building his credibility and his image in the eyes of the world; Michel knew that not everything he did was driven by ambition, pragmatism and survival. Otherwise he would have screamed when Snape was punishing him with the Cruciatus, otherwise he would have been nothing but Snape's shadow and a quiet, elusive shadow on the sidelines, fading into the background and never attracting notice.

Instead, he had chosen to stand out, to stand independently among his peers, and he had chosen to attract attention, influence and power. That was not the act of a victim who chose only to survive. And his choices had led him straight to where he was now - his abilities as a leader, his intelligence and his proficiency at the Game had all attracted Voldemort's attention and shown the Dark Lord that he was more than a skilled whore.

And now he would be twelve at Midsummer, and he would be called to bend the knee to Lord Voldemort, to receive the Dark Mark and take his place among the Death Eaters. And Michel knew, knew for certain, that if he accepted the Mark, he would never be accepted as tai-pan of the House.

Survival, or a dream? Short-term gain over a loss of the long-term ambition?

As good as his insight was, it did not stretch to reading Luc at his most inscrutable, and he was not nearly familiar enough with him to get the slightest sense of which way he would step. One thing he did know - despite his careful impassivity, despite his reputation for survival at all costs and his cold-blooded pragmatism, there was a streak of hot-blooded pride and arrogance that ran like blood through his veins and, though carefully suppressed, influenced much of his thinking. If Luc had refused to scream for Snape, would he refuse to bend knee to Voldemort?

* * *

Luc didn't want to be a Death Eater.

But he didn't want to die, either.

He wanted to be independent, to bend knee to nothing and no one, to stand on his own and to never, never have to submit to anyone ever again.

He wanted to be Lord of Clan Malfoy, to rule over the land he loved with all his heart and soul, to look out at the craggy hills and valleys in the heart of Gwynedd and know that they were his, and he was theirs. He wanted to walk among the villages on the land and know that every one of the people there was his responsibility - he wanted to keep them from harm and protect them, watch over them and, if need be, shed his blood for theirs, knowing they would do the same for him. He wanted to be everything Lucius could have been, if he had not chosen to join the Dark Lord rather than stand against him.

But his new nephew and his bastardy had changed all of that.

Failing that, he wanted to be tai-pan of the House - he wanted the power, and he wanted the acceptance, and he wanted...he wanted the sense of family and kinship that he got whenever Michel and Dominic talked of their family.

He wanted to love, and be loved...his family consisted of Lucius, his ice- whore of a wife, and an infant nephew, and Snape, a reluctant mentor who protected and defended him, but didn't understand him because he wasn't Malfoy and never would be.

Lucius understood him, and he understood Lucius; his elder brother knew his heart's desire all too well, and so had moved to neutralize any threat Luc might ever pose to him by throwing him to the wolves, by refusing to protect him as even the lowest, most remote kinsman was entitled to be protected. And now that young Draco had been born, and the doctor had pronounced, to Lucius' fury, that Narcissa would not be able to have any more children, Luc knew that he was in even more danger than ever. Lucius would never allow him to threaten his new son.

Quite frankly, Luc had begun the preparations for his death as soon as he heard of Narcissa's pregnancy, and had been resigned to it ever since he had heard of the Dark Lord's plans to lower the age barrier.

It never hurt to be prepared for any contingency - even death. No matter how well he played the Game, Luc couldn't think of a way out of this situation that didn't lead to death or damnation.

* * *

Caine, watching his half-brother as he had been doing for most of the last year, wondered what he was thinking that would lead to such a preoccupied air, so different from his usual composure.

He had no idea of the internal politics that went on in Slytherin or the Death Eater families, but he could imagine some of the things that waited in store for him back at Malfoy Manor. He wondered if Luc was afraid of going home.

When he had first come to Hogwarts, he had been very curious about this brother he had never known, and who had grown up so far outside of the family circle. What would he be like? He was the eldest son, and if he had not been a bastard, he would have been superior to Caine; he would have been the tai-pan's heir. In fact, because he was the eldest son, he did indeed have a claim on Caine's position, if only through ancient, esoteric precedent.

He had felt threatened already, and he had never met his elder brother, but when he had first seen him, locking eyes across the crowded Hall, a shiver of awareness had slithered down his spine. He knew this boy - knew him, even though he was standing isolated in a crowd, even though he stood wraithlike and slightly unreal in the shadows - Caine recognized the strength of will and the determination, the unexerted charisma and the fascination he could command with it, if he should so choose.

He recognized this, because he saw in them reflections, somewhat darker and more suppressed, of the abilities he had, and he knew, with a kind of jealous fury, that Luc was stronger than he was, and that if he ever chose, he could even outdo Caine himself with the force of his personality and will.

And so he taunted, needled and threatened, insulted and harassed him, in the hope that Luc would give up the idea of ever challenging Caine for the position of tai-pan.

If they ever went head to head, Caine knew Luc would win. And he hated him for it.

As if he could sense the hatred in his eyes, Luc's head came up and their eyes met. As he had done once before, Caine smiled slowly, viciously, and mouthed one word with a smirk.

"Bastard".

And then he stared in bemused delight as his taunt had more effect than he had ever dreamed of. Luc's eyes actually narrowed in rage, he slammed the goblet down on the table, spilling pumpkin juice everywhere, stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over with a great clatter, and stormed from the room as if his robes were on fire, slamming the door on the way out.

Everyone in the hall, teachers and students all, watched the most uncharacteristic display in stunned amusement, until they self-consciously turned back to their neighbours or their plates and resumed their conversation. Because Caine was watching, he saw Professor Snape glance over at the door, eyes creased with what might have been worry, before sighing and, shoulders a little slumped, turning back to his meal and effectively shutting out the rest of the world.

And then one of Caine's friends snapped his fingers in front of his face, made some flippant remark, and his attention was diverted, and the moment lost. He thought no more on the vaguely troubling look in Luc's and Snape's eyes, and went back to enjoying the Feast, celebrating the end of a glorious year, and gloating over the Quidditch and the House Cup wins.

* * *

Read and Review, plz. Then it'll make me feel better, and I'll be able to write more, see? 


	12. Covenants

I'm on holidays! Only for a week, but that's more than enough for me to get some serious writing done, in between all the shopping and everything else... I have posted two other stories on check them out if you want, they're AU's of this (sort of). Tell me what you think. 

Oh, and big thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, who really make my writing much more enjoyable when they tell me how much they like it. Special thanks to Lataradk, who has reviewed more than once, and to all the people out there who read but don't review (come on, I know, I do it myself) please tell me what you think.

Disclaimer - Harry Potter and co. belong to JKR. The rest are all mine. Don't sue.

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* * *

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**CHAPTER 12 - COVENANTS**

* * *

Lucius had picked Luc up from the station himself - an honour quite unprecedented - which was always a sign that something was going on. It would be far more in keeping with his position if he sent one of the Nine - three men from each of the three villages who dedicated their life to serving the Malfoy and keeping them safe. They were elite bodyguards for the children of the Blood, and the sight of Luc with one of the Nine would have been a suitable arrangement - but for the Lord to personally greet and escort him? That was an honour quite over and above what was due to an expendable bastard son. Something was definitely not right.

The inappropriately named Malfoy Manor was in fact an ancient fortress carved out of the hillside itself, dominating the surrounding countryside, watching in eternal vigilance over the Malfoy domain stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions, and providing shelter and justice to the people who dwelt in its shadow.

The castle and its lands and villages existed in a world of their own, the world Beyond the Veil, where the Malfoy - bound in a Covenant of Blood and the Old Magick - were irrevocably entwined with the Land and the People to the point where they all prospered, or none of them did. Every year, at Midsummer, the Lord offered his blood to the Land and the People, that the crops might grow - and the People and the Land renewed their allegiance to House Malfoy.

They shared Blood Bond - shared blood coursed through all of their veins, binding them all together in an irrevocable covenant where the Malfoy could not abandon or mistreat the land or the people, and the people could not rise against them. The land beyond the Veil was the true heart of House Malfoy - without the land, they were nothing.

Thus it had been for two and a half millennia - thus it would be for the next two and a half, until the end of the world or the end of the Malfoy line, whichever came first.

The Old Ways were very much alive in this forgotten corner of Wales - the Roman pantheon had never taken hold, the Saxon gods had been largely ignored, and Christianity had never been allowed to cross the Veil.

It was like taking a step a thousand years and more back in time.

For all of that, the interior of the castle had been redecorated in the Muggle 18th century to make inhabiting it much more comfortable. Just because Lord Charles Malfoy had had to live in a castle in the back end of Wales didn't mean the castle had to be authentic. He'd had the previous interior ripped out and entirely redone in the French style fashionable at that time - high painted ceilings, marble floors, statuary and silks and velvets abounded. Somehow he'd managed to achieve an effect of exquisite harmony and understated richness, all the while maintaining the outside façade and the defensibility of the original castle - thanks to some judicial magical adjustments, it was as solid and effective a fortress as it had been before Charles got his hands on it.

It was always a shock to those who had never before seen the inside - the sheer contrast between the blunt utilitarian façade and the magnificence of the interior. To Luc, who had grown up surrounded by it, it was simply another facet of his life, another lesson in concealment and deception, but most of all, it was his home.

And in his mind, it was synonymous with his older brother Lucius - the fair- haired god who dominated his life. Snape was his mentor, his protector - but Snape was, in that sense, his tool, chosen specifically for that purpose and role. Lucius...Lucius was his elder brother, his lord, and his idol.

His cool, clear voice had dominated Luc's childhood - speaking, teaching, approving, chastising...he loved Lucius, the only blood of his blood in the whole world, and yet he hated him, hated the clear voice intoning "crucio", hated the cold impassive face that watched as he was dosed with dranath and the world spun away on a rush of arousal and uncontrolled ardeur. Wanted to be Lucius, because Lucius was the only role model he had ever had - and Snape, for all of his protection, was not Malfoy...

And now there was another. An heir - a child of his blood, another Malfoy, whose birth had destroyed Luc's life expectancy, but as the first legitimate son of the Lord of Clan Malfoy, was sacrosanct under the terms of the Covenant, which could not be broken. Luc had shared blood at Midsummer - had tasted of his Lord's blood, had given his own in return. He could not raise his hand against the Malfoy, senior or junior...and yet he couldn't afford not to.

The nursery was in the most heavily defended part of the castle - until the children were old enough, they were protected and cared for, disciplined and cosseted, and left in no doubt that they were valued and loved.

Luc had grown up on his own, in an isolated room near the servant's quarters.

However, the Honourable Caius Draconis Malfoy was not to face that - he had been born on silk sheets and swaddled in Egyptian linen; his room was guarded by three of the Nine, and one of them had been assigned as his bodyguard until he was old enough to attend Hogwarts - his Companion, as they were called - an old-fashioned custom in these enlightened days.

Nevertheless, his father deemed it necessary - perhaps he too did not have complete faith in his Master Lord Voldemort. The Malfoy heir was a rich prize - especially when the doctor publicly announced that Narcissa Malfoy couldn't have any more children, and the only other direct heir was a bastard already branded a victim, anyone's meat. One could never have too much protection.

Luc followed his brother into Draco's room - light, airy and spacious, it was twice the size of his chamber. The cot lay where the breezes from the window could fan over the sleeping child, but not close enough that anyone or anything could come in and take him.

And there he was. Luc's nephew, the heir who had put him completely out of the line for succession, lay on his back, blissfully oblivious to the real world, gurgling and blowing bubbles. No longer than Luc's forearm, he was perfectly formed, with a thick down of white hair, and his eyes, when he opened them, were an unmistakable silver.

His father reached out a finger and in a rare display of affection, stroked his crooked finger down his cheek, sending out a small, subliminal pulse of the ardeur, more to warm and soothe than for anything else. The child, feeling the subliminal warmth, grabbed hold of the finger, regarded them solemnly with seemingly ancient eyes, and then incredibly, concentrated and produced a weak warmth of his own, mirroring his father's actions. Then he turned to Luc and smiled.

The boy who had trained himself not to care for anything or anyone because it might be taken away, who had built walls around his heart and the boundless capacity for love which lay inside it, took one look into the eyes of his death warrant and fell head over heels in love.

* * *

Watching, Lucius Malfoy felt a fierce pride in his son. He was twelve weeks old, and he had managed to captivate the one person who could have been his most dangerous enemy. Oh, Lucius knew about his half- brother's ambitions and dreams, and he knew that Luc had more than enough ability and charisma to pull them off - but he also knew that Luc's ambition was driven by fear, envy and a desire for security, love and acceptance so strong that he would go to any lengths to fulfill it.

However, what Luc loved, he protected with everything he had. And Luc had just fallen in love with Draco - now, despite all the very good reasons to the contrary, he would fight tooth and nail to make sure that Draco survived and prospered, and that anything that threatened him would be eliminated.

Lucius knew this, because it was exactly the way that he himself thought...it was the Malfoy way. Brandon Malfoy had not been first among the High Clan just because he was the most powerful and the best warrior, but because he had protected his companions at the risk of his own life, picked them up when they fell, carried them when they could walk no further. What the Malfoy had, they held - they protected, they nurtured, and they avenged.

Watching his brother's hopelessly spellbound face, he closed the trap that would forever keep Luc from harming his son.

"He is beautiful, isn't he." Wary, suspicious silver eyes came up to meet his, but they nodded and then slid away.

"Beautiful, but so vulnerable...I would have you to be his godfather," he stated with distressing bluntness. But there was no time - the Dark Lord would arrive that night, and after that it would be too late.

Godparents, among the High Clan, were rather like Muggle Guardian Angels - they watched over their charges, protected them from harm and avenged any injury with swift, devastating justice. Generally, they were powerful protectors chosen because of their ability to carry out their threats - however, Luc was none of these things.

Wary, suspicious silver eyes met his - he answered the unspoken question. "I know what you are capable of, Luc, and what you may be capable of when you are grown, if you should live that long. Quite frankly, I don't want that turned against me or mine - and short of fratricide, which would be far too obvious, this is the only way to prevent that."

He smiled thinly. "Besides, it is unexpected, and that may be an advantage, in times to come."

"And if I don't survive?"

"Then I will pick another."

The silver eyes lowered, and a hint of a very dry smile lifted his lips. Then they came back up again, focused on the sleeping child, and firmed. Luc drew a breath and nodded.

"Very well. I will stand godfather, now and for the rest of my undoubtedly short life."

Lucius nodded. He had not expected any differently.

* * *

Leaving the nursery and his new godchild behind, Luc went into the main hall of the castle with Lucius and prepared to welcome their guests for the Midsummer Dark Revel, held in celebration of their Lord's forthcoming victory over the Ministry, the Muggles and anyone else who stood in his way.

Most of the High Clan Lords were in attendance - Snape, Courtney, Avery, Andahni...Lestrange and his wife had been sent to Azkaban six months before, much to Rayden's delight and Voldemort's fury. With them came their children - those who would turn twelve and over this year had now been given the chance to be admitted into the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord's service.

Now they waited for the Lord to arrive, and then the night's festivities and the last stage of the revolution would begin.

* * *


	13. The Dark Revel I

Chapter 13 is here, quite quickly actually, now that I have time to sit down and write. I have also updated my other fics, feel free to check them out (hint, hint ). Does anyone think I'm putting in too much thought and not enough action? Have been wondering that for a while...but it's not easy to actually push the plot along, it's turning into more of an exploration than an actual adventure. Oh, well - I'm the author, and I can do what I want. (What a thought...) 

Disclaimer - it's not mine. Don't sue. (Does anyone get tired of writing these things?)

* * *

**CHAPTER 13 - THE DARK REVEL I**

* * *

Midsummer beyond the Veil had traditionally been the highlight of the year, a time when the villagers put aside their daily lives and worries and celebrated the harvest festival, sacrificing to the Mother on the altar in the Henge that was older than the Veil itself. It was one of the last places where the pagan rites were celebrated so openly - here the Mother held sway, and the old Ways were kept as if they had never become old.

After the sacrifice there would be dancing and feasting, and sometime that night the Lord of the Castle would come down to the festival and mingle with his people, sharing blood and renewing the Covenant that bound them together irrevocably.

Every Midsummer, starting at dusk, wounds would appear on the Malfoy Lord's forearms and wrists, visible stigmatic manifestations of the Covenant, and the bleeding would continue until dawn. That was the sign of the true Clan Lord - usurpers didn't bleed, and they all suffered because of it.

As far as they knew, the Malfoy were unique in this - although Luc wasn't sure that Lucius appreciated that fact. He hated being bound so tightly to his land, it was a burden to him - and the Midsummer bleeding and blood exchanges disgusted him. He didn't feel, as Luc felt, that it was a privilege, not an onerous duty - a gift granted by the Mother in her manifestation as Rhiyana, Lady of Ravens and the patroness of the Malfoy.

But nevertheless, Lucius bled on Midsummer, without the aid of knife or anything else that would open wounds artificially, and so Luc said nothing - he was the Clan Lord, and as long as he kept the Covenant, willingly or not, all would be well.

Lucius was still bleeding, cloths wrapped around his wounds, when he greeted his guests at the door to the Castle. Thanks to tonight's revel, he had sent word to the villages that the blood exchange would be occurring earlier tonight - they had just come back from the Henge before they went to see Draco, and he had woven the strongest safeguards he knew to pull the Veil over the festival, hiding them from any who would wish them harm.

The Death Eaters would not dare to touch Lucius' peasants, but Lord Voldemort had no such scruples. In fact, it would be keeping in line with his malicious sense of humour and need to control everyone around him if he did order it...

So Lucius had headed off the possibility. He did feel some responsibility towards them; they were bound to him, and he was bound to protect them. Besides, if he killed or allowed any of them to be killed, it would completely destroy the Covenant - and then all hell would break loose for Clan Malfoy...he cursed the malice that had led Voldemort to choose his house and this day, of all days, to hold a Revel.

Watching, Luc could detect none of this on his face, but because he knew his brother so well, because he knew the situation, he could follow it in the slight shadows in his eyes, in the very quick glance westwards, toward the Henge.

But his face was impassive as he went forwards to greet his guests.

First came Snape - face set in the cruel, proud mask of a High Clan Lord, he moved with deadly elegance and complete arrogance, black velvet robes swirling dramatically around him. He had always had a taste for melodrama.

"My Lord Snape," said Lucius, an ironic echo of an earlier meeting, long ago. "We have been waiting for you."

Snape's eyes acknowledged that he remembered, and appreciated the irony. "My Lord Malfoy. It appears you have not been too bored."

And with that they acknowledged the ties that bound them together - Lucius' father had taken Snape under his protection, Lucius himself had done so at Hogwarts, not that he'd needed to. Under Malfoy patronage, Snape had had the chance to rise higher than ever before - and in return, Snape's father's had dragged Lucius' down with him into the Dark Side and into Voldemort's service, condemning him and his whole House to a lifetime of servitude.

To Lucius' eyes, it had not been an equal bargain.

But too much remained of the friendship and partnership with Snape, who had really been the only one who had ever come near to understanding him - they had shared too much, gone through too much together to ever really be enemies.

And that was why Lucius hadn't betrayed Snape when he found out for certain that he was a spy - because he, too, would have liked to have had the courage to do that, if he hadn't been so distrustful of the Ministry and Dumbledore, if he hadn't had so much to lose - two and a half millennia of history and legacy would all be gleefully stripped away if the Ministry found out he was a Death Eater.

And because he appreciated the irony - both sons undoing all their father's hopes and dreams. Severus losing even the little that Clan Snape had left after their doomed involvement with the rebellion of '45, destroying all his father's hopes of riches and power and finally ending up as the Potions Master of Hogwarts, of all places.

And Lucius - Lucius' father had tried so hard to stay out of Voldemort's reach - and here was his son and heir, Voldemort's right hand, highest of all Death Eaters - the most ruthless and dangerous of the lot. Unlike Snape, he had prospered - but that didn't mean that he couldn't fall. He would just have to make sure that he landed on his feet.

* * *

Luc watched, as he did best, quiet in a shadowy corner as the guests arrived and the Revel started to build. Food and drink had been provided - not that many were touching it without first testing for poison (a wise approach, as it turned out - one incautious new recruit fell victim to the apples - much to his friends' amusement as he lay convulsing on the floor).

The more powerful Death Eaters could be distinguished from the mere foot soldiers by their bearing, by the way they cut through the crowds without even seeing them part. By far the majority of the upper echelons were High Clan - accustomed to command, power and ruthlessness, Voldemort had chosen the most capable, well-trained wizards and witches of society and turned them into his generals.

There was a reason most of the known Death Eaters were Slytherin, and it was not just because they were unappreciated and condemned, or only because they were the most ambitious. Slytherins were also the most accustomed to the use of power, to the price demanded for fulfillment of a goal - and they were most often more than willing to pay it, and worry about the consequences later.

The foot soldiers were less exalted, less exclusive - here one found the disaffected members of the other houses, and the Slytherins fit for nothing more than curse fodder.

If, by some unhappy chance, Luc did find himself branded by a Dark Mark, he would not find himself in the ranks of the foot soldiers - he was too valuable for that - he would be given to one of the generals for "training", which would no doubt involve much pain and blood - but would nevertheless train him to serve his Master in some useful manner.

Voldemort was too intelligent to let a Malfoy, even a bastard one, go to waste as a mere catamite - he would be put to use in some way.

Luc didn't want to think about it.

He was still watching the crowd - the Death Eaters, the prisoners, the male and female whores with glazed, hopeless eyes - when the hair on his neck lifted and he spun around, a long, wicked knife coated with deadly poison appearing in his hand and ardeur ready to strike. He threw a nasty curse at his attacker, and when he ducked he grabbed hold of his robes and twisted him around, hand grabbing the attacker's right, wand hand, twisting it behind his back so it pointed to the left instead of at him, and with his left hand he pressed the knife firmly to the attacker's throat. As an additional threat, he drew on the ardeur, let the other person feel the subliminal vibration of wandless power held in complete control and ready to be let loose.

He was just about to kill, with either the wand or the Killing Curse, when he heard a choked sound coming from the other. It sounded like an exasperated "ooc!" - and only one person he knew could ever quite manage that tone. He smiled with vicious glee.

"Hello Dirk." With almost nonchalant ease he removed the knife and released his hand, but didn't let the ardeur go.

* * *

Scowling, Dirk turned around and faced him, eyes a little embarrassed that he had been stupid enough to sneak up on Luc like that. No doubt he should have known better, but thought it would be interesting to see how Luc would react.

Well, now he knew.

There was a line of red skin across his throat where the poisoned knife had almost broken the skin - swallowing nervously Dirk touched his fingers to it and shivered at just how close he had come to dying. Luc was watching him with Slytherin eyes - cool, detached and analytical - and under that gaze he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"You didn't use a wand."

There was no reaction - Luc only raised an eyebrow and agreed, "I didn't use my wand."

"Why not?"

"I prefer to use the ardeur, with the aid of basilisk venom." Which meant, thought Dirk, that he still couldn't use the wand with the speed and competence necessary in a serious, to the death duel. But there was no need to say that outright.

"Ah," Dirk made a slight, awkward gesture and hoped that he would be spared that utterly impartial, unnerving gaze.

Politely, Luc looked away.

Dirk cleared his throat and asked, "So have you seen the others?"

Luc had gone back to watching the crowd, but turned at that and quirked an eyebrow.

"Rayden, Shan and Brandon - they said they were coming tonight. The Dark Lord wants to induct them too."

"And what of you, Master Courtney?" His voice was half mocking, half serious.

"Yes, me as well."

Luc smiled ruefully. "All five of us, in the same boat. I never would have thought I would be envious of Messieurs de Sauvigny." He fixed Dirk with an amused look. "Do you know where they are now?"

Dirk shook his head.

The amusement deepened. "They're in Hawaii."

"Hawaii? What are they doing there, of all places?"

Luc laughed outright. "I understand that the tai-pan is hoping to expand into America. The whole family went with him, they're having a business holiday."

"In Hawaii?"

"Mmhmmm. I believe it is an American state - and this businessman they are wooing is sixty years old, and believes it is time that he took his wife on a second honeymoon. Thus the choice of Hawaii."

"Damn." Dirk looked around at his surroundings, at the almost visible currents of treachery and fear. "I'd never thought I'd envy them either."

"Envy who?" Dirk spun around, wand coming out in surprise, but Luc didn't move. Evidently he had heard Rayden come up behind them.

"Envy the blissful innocence of Messieurs de Sauvigny, while they while away the summer in Hawaii, of all places." Luc's voice was light, flexible and amused - and genuinely warm. They had become friends, somehow - all five of them in Hogwarts that year.

Luc and Dirk were sitting sprawled against the wall, so the other three joined them, Brandon stretching his legs out before him, Shan crossing his legs and looking ridiculously young, and Rayden drawing his knees up and resting his arms on them.

They all sat and watched the Revel in companionable silence. Being Slytherin, and superbly trained, they saw much more than just the surface - they saw who disappeared with who into a dark, secluded room, who was plotting with who and against someone else, and who was in favour with who and who wasn't.

Exchanging views and ideas, they each of them realized that they enjoyed this - not the killing and torturing part, but the intrigue, the manoeuvring, the shifting alliances and scandals and backstabbing. The Game was larger than them all, and Voldemort was just an extreme manifestation who had managed to turn it incredibly dark and dangerous. It was part of them, and they were part of it, as their ancestors had been, and as their descendants would be.

Did the players control the Game, or did the Game itself control the players? None of them knew.

* * *

Sorry to end it here, but it was getting too long, so will continue straight on into the next chapter.


	14. The Dark Revel II The Choice

Part 2 of the Dark Revel - my muse physically dragged this out of me and I have never written anything that came to me so clearly. Tell me what you think of it please...I'm dying to know. 

Disclaimer - it's still not mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER 14 - THE DARK REVEL II**

* * *

A stir ran through the guests, and a fine tension gripped the hall as the door opened with a dramatic crash.

Lord Voldemort had arrived.

Everyone in the hall, foot soldiers and generals, whores and house-elves, went down to one knee and bowed their heads. Even the five children in the corner, who had lost their companionable sense of peace and were reminded of just why they had been brought here.

The Dark Lord settled into an ancient, half-decayed throne that radiated evil and cast his eye over his servants, all of them ready and willing to die, kill and give up their souls for him. His red eyes glinted with evil satisfaction.

"Rise," he ordered, waving his hand to indicate the whole room. When everyone was standing, he stood up slowly, black robes swathing him from head to toe, hood pulled forward to cover his face.

"Come forward," his voice called through the hall. "Come forward, all those who would join us and become Death Eaters. Bring them to us."

There was a murmuring as children and teenagers got up from all over the room, their sponsors accompanying them, and knelt before the Dark Lord's throne.

Looking at each other uncertainly, the five children got up, knowing that they had to - there was no way to run, nowhere they could hide that the Death Eaters wouldn't find them. They had come to the end of the road.

Walking out of the corner, they found their sponsors waiting for them - Professor Snape, for Luc, Lord Andahni for Rayden and Shan, Lord Courtney for Dirk and Lord Avery for Brandon.

In silence, moving slowly and surreally, they moved forward and bent knee before the throne.

As twelve year olds, they would be the last to be called, so they had nearly an hour to think over their decision and what the consequences would be. They watched the others receive the Dark Mark, some standing tall and proud, others obviously terrified - and watched them don the white masks and assume the identity of the Death Eater - faceless, anonymous, existing only to do their master's bidding.

They knew almost every candidate here - some, a great majority, were from Durmstrang, but were High Clan nevertheless, and so had come into contact with them at one time or another. Others were from Slytherin, schoolmates, housemates, who liked to play quidditch and bitch about the teachers in the common room, and about girls in the bathroom. They were children, older than they, High Clan, middle, or low, but they were still the same as they were, and they bent their knee, kissed Voldemort's feet, received the Mark and became anonymous Death Eaters, as surely as the de Sauvigny boys had become Slytherin simply by being sorted.

They were no longer the boys they had all associated with - they were Death Eaters.

* * *

Watching, Dirk remembered his father, his splendid father who loved him as no one else in the world did, and who had the courage to show him outright. He had joined the Death Eaters after Dirk's birth, when his mother had died in childbirth and Gabriel had been left without an anchor to hold onto, to keep him centred. She'd been a Ravenclaw, and had provided a sensible influence on their lives - but once she was gone, there was nothing left to hang on to, nothing to live for.

Dirk was too young to remember him before the Dark Mark, but he remembered that Gabriel had never once visited his wife's grave afterwards, perhaps because of guilt, or because as the deputy leader of the Inquisitors, he should be above such things as grief and love. But Dirk had seen his father torture a man to death once - it had taken three days and by the end he had still been sane, even though everything else was gone. Dirk had had nightmares for weeks after that, and his father, for once, hadn't had any sympathy to spare - calling him weak and forcing him to watch another interrogation, and another, until he could witness it without showing a single reaction.

Each time, the Dark Lord had been there, watching, and his cruel delight had been the most horrifying thing about the ordeal.

Did Dirk want to be a Death Eater? His father was one, a very successful one, but he was becoming less and less human as the years went on. Dirk loved his father, but his father was changing, slowly, and he attributed it entirely to the Dark Lord's influence...

He didn't want to be like that - he didn't want to be able to torture a man for three days and have the skill to keep him alive and sane for all that time...He didn't want to serve Voldemort and go around killing people he didn't even know, and therefore couldn't have a grievance against...he didn't want to end up in Azkaban if he made a mistake, and see the whole of his estates confiscated and forfeit for treason. He didn't want to become a soulless puppet existing only at the Dark Lord's whim - he wanted to be himself. Dirk Courtney.

And he didn't want to be a Death Eater.

* * *

Shan didn't want to be a Death Eater either - but his father was the director of Voldemort's intelligence service, and he received reports from all over the world, from people in the most unlikely and supposedly incorruptible positions. Shan had a very good idea of how powerful the Dark Lord's position was, and he didn't want to cross him if he could avoid it.

Unfortunately, he had the feeling that the time when he could have successfully avoided making a choice had just come to an end - and now he would have to choose. He didn't want to be a Death Eater - he had no desire to go around killing people he barely knew, and quite frankly he didn't want to live his life out on the fringes of society. He wanted to be accepted for more than just a Slytherin, seen as more than High Clan. He wanted to know how the other people lived, and whether it was true that some people could survive without house elves, because they did all their own housework.

He wanted...he wanted to be seen for what and who he really was, not for his House, or his position, or his wealth or his class.

But he didn't want to cross the Death Eaters, because he didn't want to die, either. Unlike the others, he didn't like being in pain, couldn't embrace it and turn it into pleasure like they did. He didn't like the sight of blood; it made him secretly sick, or the sight of people in pain, because he had an empathic gift that he couldn't quite switch off, and he felt everything they felt no matter how hard he tried to muffle it.

He was afraid, and he knew that this time his cousin couldn't help him - this time, he would have to make the choice for himself.

Safety, even if it meant constant emotional pain, or the chance of freedom at the risk of a very slow, nasty death?

He didn't want to die, but he knew for certain that he didn't want to live if it meant being constantly besieged by other people's agony. He would go mad.

No, Shan didn't want to be a Death Eater.

* * *

Rayden knew for certain that he didn't want to be a Death Eater - would never be one, even if it meant his own death, unless they threatened Shan. And then, only then, might he consider joining if it meant Shan's life.

But as much as he loved his cousin, he knew that the ultimate choice lay in himself, for himself. Just as Shan had to choose for himself, and just as his brother and his wife had chosen for theirselves.

And that was the reason why Rayden didn't want to join - simply because his brother had been a Death Eater, and had wanted Rayden to be one, and Rayden hated his brother more than anyone else on this earth, even counting Voldemort - and would do anything to spite him and thwart his designs.

Even if it meant his death, and even if it meant Shan's, Rayden was not going to be a Death Eater - not now and not ever.

It was as simple as that.

* * *

Brandon Avery, underneath the ennui, hated his father as much as Rayden hated his brother - he knew this, because he had talked it over with him before coming here. Like Rayden, he would do anything to spite his father, even being ignominiously killed here, which would have the added benefit of causing him an enormous loss of face.

Neither he nor Rayden had any problems with killing or torturing anonymous muggles or even well known acquaintances, although he might balk at killing a friend, if the friend had done nothing to deserve it.

What they found they did have problems with was bending the knee - both of them were original members of the High Clan - their ancestors had come over the sea with Brandon Malfoy and had helped him carve out his empire, and had carved out their own with his help. They could trace their lineage back two and a half thousand years and more, and they had wielded vast influence all but unchecked for centuries.

And now they were expected to submit themselves to a half-blood, whose father was of a third rate House, and call him Master, when the only one they had ever even bent head to was the Malfoy.

No, and no, and no.

Because of pride, arrogance, simple common instinct that said Voldemort would not stop until there was nothing left to kill, and because of hatred, Brandon would not become a Death Eater.

* * *

Luc had already gone over his reasons thousands of times before.

His dreams, or his life?

Acceptance by society, respect and a family, or a mark that would forever brand him outcast, unless Voldemort won - and even then, the intrigue and the killing would continue.

In the end, it came down to pride or pragmatism.

And Luc had already bent his head too many times in his life - with Snape's help he had started to stand up for himself at Hogwarts, and had discovered the freedom and the joy inherent in being responsible for his own life, for making his own choices, and for standing up for himself.

He didn't want to be a puppet anymore, even if it meant that he would never be tai-pan, never feel stigmata break out on his forearms on Midsummer, and never live beyond tonight.

For once in his life, he would show the world that he was a Malfoy, not a whore, that he was every bit as free as Caine, as proud as Lucius, and he would be recognized as himself, as Lucien Brandon Malfoy, and not as the Potionmasters Whore, or the Malfoy Bastard.

He would be himself, nothing more and nothing less.

* * *

Voldemort had come to the very last of the recruits, the children of twelve years old.

Before beginning the initiation, he turned to the Assembly and said, "Tonight, after we have finished welcoming our new servants, we will begin the last stage of our victory! Tonight, we will squash the rumours of our demise at the hands of an infant - tonight, after we have finished killing the Potters and their miracle child, we will be unstoppable! After tonight, we will rule the world!"

A huge roar went up, and Snape, beneath the safe anonymity of his mask, closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer. _Please, gods, no..._

The line of twelve-year old children began to move - there were eight before Luc, and Snape died a little inside as he saw the children give their lives, their youth and their souls up to Voldemort. He had worked so hard to keep Luc and his friends out of the Dark Lord's hands, and now it would all come to naught...Luc had been trained too well - always, pragmatism over pride, survival over honour or face, submission over defiance. And now he would sacrifice his life to ambition and survival - what was the point of prolonging a life if it led to this? His words to the Headmaster now seemed to him pompous and empty.

He watched Luc kneel before the Dark Lord, knowing deep inside that he had failed, and that he would always fail - and the Dark Lord asked the question he had asked Snape, and Lucius, and all the others in this hall - "Will you serve me, without question, for the rest of your life?"

And Luc was still, a small, pale, beautiful figure so vulnerable in the firelight, a twelve-year-old child who had never properly lived and now never would. Snape felt his heart break in his chest, and his breath stopped completely as his head came up and he looked Voldemort in the eye.

He spoke clearly, concisely so that the whole room and everyone in it could hear.

"No."

* * *

The hall fell dead silent, and Lucius could hear the blood rushing in his ears. _Oh, you fool_, he whispered silently to his younger brother, his brother who had just had the courage to do what neither he nor his father had ever been able to do...he felt a mad pride well up in his breast, and he knew that he would remember this moment for the rest of his life as the time when he first realized that his brother was a person in his own right - a consummate schemer who had nonetheless thrown off the constraints of the Game and had the courage to stand up for himself.

At that moment, Lucius Malfoy felt that he had seen something extraordinary that would never again be seen in this world.

* * *

Snape closed his eyes in stunned disbelief and a crazy rush of elation. He had done it - he had taken a child, a victim, and he had taught him about pride, honour, and the High Clan. And it had worked. Oh, sweet Lady, it had worked.

* * *

Brandon, Shan, Rayden and Dirk exchanged stunned looks. That had been the most stunning piece of Gryffindoric, suicidal impetuosity they had ever seen. Never mind that they had all resolved to do the same thing, they had never expected to see Luc do it.

They waited in admiration, in fearful suspense, to see what the Dark Lord's reaction would be.

* * *

Luc took a deep, steadying breath, stunned that he had managed to work up the courage to do such an insanely reckless thing. But swiftly rising was a feel of crazy elation - he'd done it, he'd been true to himself, he'd stood up against everything that told him to submit and be patient. Now he knew why the Gryffindors did it so often - although for him, it would only be one time thing. If he should ever, by some miracle, survive past this night, he would never, ever again do something like that. He swore it.

And now, here was the reaction, and it looked like Voldemort was not amused. Luc had never seen such insane fury in his life - and it was focused entirely on him. His eyes widened involuntarily as he felt the power gather, dark and evil and corrupted, and he had time for one last thought -

_I am..._

_Luc...!_

before the world went black in a silent explosion of agony.

And then there was nothing.

* * *


	15. The Aftermath, the end

Here is the grand conclusion to my epic story - to all of you who are still with me, enjoy, and tell me what you think. 

Disclaimer - everything you recognize is JKR's, and all the rest is mine.

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**CHAPTER 15 - AFTERMATH**

* * *

Somewhere, far off, a horrifying scream echoed in the night - a scream of outrage, of horror, of utter and feral anger - it started off small, but seemed to grow larger and larger until it echoed with shattering effect back and forth, blocking out the entire world. It rose to a mind-numbing crescendo, louder and louder until, finally, it was simply cut off.

Silence.

And then there was nothing more.

* * *

On the floor of the great hall in the Castle, a small, black robed, pale skinned form lay crumpled where the repeated applications of Cruciatus and the physical beatings and torture had left him, white face bruised and battered, fine features and limbs obscured by the marks of fists, curses and whips. Blood leaked in a crimson trail from his mouth, from his nose and his ears, the only colour in a monochromatic image of black hair and black shadows and white, pale skin and moonlight.

The Hall was empty, the Death Eaters and new recruits had gone off to Godric's Hollow to witness the Dark Lord destroy the child of prophecy; and the children who had yet to be inducted, thanks to a small, unexpected glitch, had been taken home to wait for another day.

Nothing stirred to disturb the eerie tableau; not even the crumpled being on the floor, lying so still and motionless - until, with a small shift in the fabric of reality, something changed.

The world shifted.

And Luc Malfoy began to breathe again.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore jerked awake in his bed, heart pounding, hands trembling from the instinctive rush of adrenaline that had come in his dreams.

The scream.

Snape had told him that Voldemort was planning to begin his final moves tonight - after the inductions. After seeing his Potions Master off, he'd gone to his study and indulged in something he hadn't done for almost fifty years.

He'd gotten thoroughly, blind drunk trying to blot out the faces of all the Slytherins he'd lost over the years - starting with Tom Riddle, progressing through the entire - yes, the entire Slytherin class of 1975, where names such as Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy, who could have been great in the light, stood out particularly in his memory.

And then there was Luc Malfoy, who had fallen asleep on the grass in the sun. Albus feared he had let the boy come too close, and now he would pay the price.

All he could do was wait.

But the scream...

* * *

In the main headquarters of the Auror Corps, located near to but not in the Ministry building, all was chaos. Alastor Moody, who had been sleeping on the couch waiting for the latest disaster, was jerked rudely awake by the unearthly scream.

His awakening brought others with him, eyes half blurred with fatigue and jaded experience, they were nevertheless alert, aware and ready for anything. They were the Aurors - the elite forces of the wizarding world, and they had been trained, honed and conditioned until they were as lethal as the men they hunted. And at the first sign of the scream, every single one of them had awakened, on their feet and wands out, before they fully realized that there wasn't a tangible threat.

Moody's gravelly voice bought them back to order. "What the hell was that? Who has been attacked tonight?"

An Auror over by a topographically accurate map of wizarding England, complete down to moving people in Diagon Alley and the wind moving through the trees of the Forbidden Forest called out.

"Sir, it's...it's Godric's Hollow."

There was stunned silence, and Moody cursed viciously. "The Potters." He spun on his heel and started rapping out orders, and the stunned Aurors pulled themselves together and got down to work.

"And find out what that scream was."

And with those last words, he and three others apparated to Godric's Hollow.

* * *

Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy stood, robed and masked, over the wreckage of the Potter House in Godric's Hollow, for once united in their feelings.

Stunned shock, that the Dark Lord was gone, truly gone - a dawning relief that was slowly turning into almost hysteria...and calculation.

How were they going to spin this to their advantage?

And beneath all that, suppressed ruthlessly, lay a sick grief and a feeling of despair over the small form that they had left crumpled on the floor of the Hall in the Castle. But they could do nothing about that, not yet...first, they had to come out of this alive and smelling of roses.

And that meant getting out of here as quickly as possible.

But there were sounds on the edge of their awareness, small sounds, almost like a whimper. Like a baby's cry - but that wasn't possible, was it? The Dark Lord had killed them all: father, mother, and child.

Evidently not.

They found him in the wreckage, sheltered by his mother's arms, still alive and well but for the bleeding curse mark on his forehead. Exchanging glances, they bent down closer, and the child opened it's eyes - green eyes, like Lily Potter's had been - and Snape put a restraining hand on Lucius' wrist.

"No - he has done us a service. Let us do him one in return."

Lucius' soundless laughter got through to Snape, who turned his head to glare at him even through the mask. "I thought you had gotten over her, Sev?"

"I am merely in too good a mood to kill infants right now, Lucius. Let be."

Lucius nodded slowly, remembering, perhaps, his younger brother lying crumpled on the floor. "So. He has indeed ridden us of the Dark Lord...it seems we owe him wizards debt, Severus." He sighed, and then picked up the child, who was no older than his own son, and drew a knife. Snape followed suit.

With swift, economic motions Lucius Malfoy, Lord of Clan Malfoy, and Severus Snape, Lord of Clan Snape engraved visible marks of their debt on Harry Potter's infant wrist. If he, at any time in his life, showed those marks to them again, they would be bound to give him whatever assistance he needed and asked for.

The gratitude of a Clan Lord is no mean thing.

Then, healing the cuts so that they would scar, they replaced the child and, straightening, apparated silently away - Snape to Hogwarts to inform the Headmaster, Lucius to his castle and his brother and son.

* * *

The Aurors arrived almost immediately after.

"Merlin's balls!" Alastor Moody stared in shock at the destruction before him. Nothing could have survived that. But sometimes miracles happened.

"How the hell did this happen? Who was their secret keeper?" That was Dane Harcourt, his second in command, a young, very intense man who had been a Slytherin, before he threw everything over to become an Auror. He had worked twice as hard as everyone else to prove himself, and even now he was still regarded with suspicion. He didn't allow it to embitter him - he believed too strongly in the cause.

The third man, looking around him warily, as if waiting for Death Eaters to appear, turned back to them at that. "Sirius Black."

Not paying attention, focusing instead on searching the rubble, Harcourt was only half listening. "What about him?"

"He was their secret keeper."

Both Harcourt and Moody straightened up and gave him their full attention - an unnerving experience.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. They're best friends - or," here he swallowed and glanced around, "at least, they were. There was no one else James Potter trusted more."

Harcourt and Moody exchanged glances - then looked back to what had once been the home of a couple they had all liked and respected. Harcourt's voice was tired as he breathed out a curse.

"Shit..."

And then they heard it, as the two Death Eaters had - a baby's cry, more agitated now that he'd been rudely awakened, badly frightened, had lost his mother and father, and had been cut and scarred by two High Clan pledge blades.

Harry Potter was not happy.

They all rushed over to him, the youngest, because he had younger brothers, picking him up and trying to soothe him. "How is it that he's still alive?"

The other two shrugged. There was nothing else alive around here, and the baby had no doubt been hit with the Killing Curse - but he was still alive. They didn't know how, or why, and they didn't need to. What they wanted to know was who.

* * *

Even allowing for the flames of the fireplace, Albus Dumbledore looked distinctly inebriated as they talked with him over the floo. His normally blue eyes were bloodshot, and his hands were trembling uncontrollably. For the first time in all the years Moody had known him, the headmaster looked like an old man.

"It was the Potters, headmaster," he said as gently as he could, for a man with his famously gruff manner. "They were betrayed, and James and Lily are dead."

Evidently the headmaster knew the implications of that statement, for he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands momentarily. When he looked up, his eyes were dulled and cloudy.

He had loved Sirius Black, Moody remembered, like one of his own sons.

"And the child?" He asked hoarsely. "Harry?"

"He is alive, sir." For the first time, something like hope came into the old man's eyes.

"Do you know who was leading the attack tonight?" Moody knew that Dumbledore had a source inside the Death Eaters, a source he guarded jealously; but the information provided was so valuable that Moody could afford to let it lie.

"I don't know..." but his head turned at this, and he seemed to address someone else beyond the reach of the flames. When he turned back, his eyes were shining, and there was an almost giddy expression on his face.

"Voldemort himself led the attack," he announced. "The curse rebounded off the child and came back tenfold upon its caster - Voldemort is gone, gentlemen. He is gone." Exaltation rang in his voice, danced in his eyes, and Moody, who had been battling the Death Eaters and their masters for ten years and more, felt a strange feeling of joy well up in him as well - joy he hadn't felt in more years than he could remember.

Harcourt's face was impassive, but he was High Clan - he never showed anything. There was, instead, a fierce expression in his eyes that could have been triumph. But with him you were never really sure.

The youngest auror, still holding the baby, openly whooped and cheered, and fell silent when the other two turned to look incredulously at him. But he couldn't restrain the almost silly grin of delight.

Voldemort was gone.

They were free.

* * *

Severus Snape slumped on the comfortable stuffed chair in Dumbledore's office, out of the line of sight from the fire, and listened to Albus spread the news. He could hear the headmaster's joy clearly, and to an extent he shared it, but underneath was the fatigue and the grief that had begun when he'd seen his protégé methodically destroyed simply to set an example to anyone who would dare defy Voldemort.

He doubted he'd ever be completely free again.

Not even the news that Sirius Black was to be hunted down and sent to Azkaban for betraying the Potters was enough to lift the depression - and that was a goal he'd been working towards ever since the Werewolf Incident in sixth year.

Now that Luc was dead, it simply didn't matter any more.

* * *

Rayden, Shan, Dirk and Brandon, safe in Lord Andahni's house, sat and stared at each other, lost in their own thoughts, each remembering the sight of silver eyes glazing over in death, but shining with an enigmatic smile that could not be erased.

He'd done it - he'd taken what he wanted, and had been prepared to take the consequences that came with it; but what was the point, when Voldemort would not be harmed, and nothing in the world would be changed?

In the end, it all came down to what Michel had said - acknowledgement.

They were interrupted when the door flew open, and their respective guardians flowed in, black robes swirling, an aura of desperation and...relief? surrounding them. Without any proper small talk, because the situation was too urgent for that and Slytherins could ignore the niceties, if it was necessary, Gabriel Courtney, the highest-ranking Death Eater broke the news.

"He's gone."

For a moment, they thought he was referring to Luc. Dirk had actually opened his mouth to reply that, yes, they did know - they'd seen it...and then the sense of urgency and relief registered. They would not have been so agitated had it been Luc dead. He was simply not important enough.

Brandon, for once abandoning his ennui, sat straight upright and looked almost wide-eyed at Dirk's father. He was almost afraid to hope - but he asked the question anyway.

"The Dark Lord?"

There was a small beat of silence, as if to deny it would make it untrue, but then they all three of them nodded - Avery resentful, Courtney resigned and Andahni slightly relieved.

"Yes. He's gone, completely, and he won't be coming back any time soon - it was the Potter brat..."

Like all good High Clan children they showed no reaction, but it couldn't be disguised in their eyes - the sense of fierce relief. Voldemort was gone, and they were free - they didn't have to be Death Eaters, they could be whatever and whoever they wanted...and Luc had died for something, after all.

But first, there was the matter of surviving the fallout. The Ministry would very soon be searching about for scapegoats...for Death Eaters to punish and imprison - for estates and bank vaults to confiscate, and they would start their search within the High Clan.

If they weren't careful, they could all be dragged down.

* * *

All was silent in the Castle, even the shadows and the moonlight static - the only sign of life was the insistent crying of the newest Malfoy. Draco's wails echoed in the silence, crying for his father, his mother, his nurse, anyone - for the person who had bonded with him earlier in the night, who had silently promised to protect him against anyone and anything who ever threatened him.

But Draco was scared, and there was no one to protect him against the cold, and the fear, and the sense of great malevolence he'd felt tonight, especially in the great scream he'd heard earlier.

And his protector was gone.

Lucius, letting himself into the castle, ignored the hall in favour of the nursery, picking up his frightened son and letting the flow of the ardeur soothe him, warm him and calm him. Then, almost reluctantly, he went into the Great Hall, to see the brother he had only recently recognized...he lay, in an unmoving heap on the floor.

A faint noise, and whirling with his wand in his right hand and his son in his left arm, he saw Severus Snape, unmasked and defenceless in more ways than one come out of the shadows. Together, the two guardians and young Draco knelt down beside their charge and surveyed the damage.

Rolling the boy over, they watched in agonized silence as the great Swiss clock in the foyer ticked off the seconds methodically - Snape swearing rash promises to whatever Gods were listening, Lucius rather coolly holding on blindly to mental calm by resorting to a muggle meditation technique.

Then - there it was...the faintest lift of his chest, a rattling inhalation, and a definite breath. A slight frown appeared between the brows, and a soft noise of pain escaped.

And he opened his eyes.

* * *

Luc walked forward through darkness, confident of his path, happy simply to be free of pain and fear. It was safe, here in the dark.

And then, suddenly, there was a flash of green and an echo of a mother's scream, and in the darkness there was a fundamental shift, a twist of reality. It shifted, and it took him, struggling and protesting, back into the light, where there was pain and fear and evil. Everything was too intense, and he tried to go back - but the way was barred, and he was stuck in the light, in his body, which he remembered had been tortured and abused and discarded.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, to see Professor Snape, his brother and his new nephew leaning over him, eyes and faces open and concerned, as he had never seen them before. He wondered idly what was wrong that they had so forgotten protocol - but then he remembered.

He had died.

And now he was alive.

And Voldemort was gone - he knew that as surely as he knew there would have to be some very smooth talking in times to come, if they were to keep everything they had away from the Ministry.

But they would worry about that later.

Professor Snape's relieved expression vanished, to be replaced by a fierce scowl.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," came his velvet, dangerous voice. "What did you hope to gain this time from that foolish stunt?"

Luc smiled weakly, but it was a genuine smile, something that was as rare to him as it was to Snape.

"Freedom, sir."

* * *

THE END

* * *

Yes, it's the very last chapter, the end...sheds a tear but don't worry, I might write a sequel - I probably will, dealing with the trials. It's just that I go back to uni on Monday, and then things start to get really busy. Oh, well, I'll find time.

A few last notes - in chapter 11, the quote "duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather" is from Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time.

In chapter 13, the bit about whether the game or the players control it is paraphrased from Raymond E Feist & Janny Wurts' Mistress of the Empire.

And I have no doubt there is a whole host of other ideas and issues borrowed and lifted from other books and fics I've read - if there's anything I haven't acknowledged, then if you recognize it, it's not completely mine.

Thank you to all the people who reviewed this and gave me ideas and support. Feel free to read any of my other fics (hint, hint ).


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